


i won't forget (the good times)

by ninwrites



Series: Do I Dare Disturb The Universe? [15]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Bi-Curiosity, Bisexual Jace Wayland, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Gay Character, Canon Relationships, Dating, F/F, Falling In Love, Gen, Idiots in Love, Lesbian Clary Fray, M/M, Mutual Pining, None of Your Faves are Straight, Pansexual Isabelle Lightwood, Pansexual Simon Lewis, Pride, Secret Crush, aesthetic titles, all of them - Freeform, chapter 1 - Clary/Isabelle, chapter 2 - Jace/Simon, chapter 3 - Magnus/Alec, inter-related chapters, non-canon relationships, pride month fic, this comes to you in three parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-13 17:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11189556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninwrites/pseuds/ninwrites
Summary: College isn't easy, and neither is navigating love and relationships. But to their credit, these guys try.--





	1. hold on (to this feeling)

**Author's Note:**

> You know what time of year it is?? PRIDE MONTH. That means I'm extra-bi this month, and because of that, I have compiled three one-shots that technically relate to each other, the first two of which are ships I've never written before. 
> 
> They will be posted over the next consecutive Friday's, ending on the last day of June.
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> \--
> 
> overall title from 'Good Times' by All Time Low

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one in which Isabelle doesn't _need_ a girlfriend, but finds the chords of her heart struck by a pretty redhead with a chivalrous nature, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from 'Afterglow' by All Time Low
> 
> \--
> 
> love to [Lu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vulturemonem/pseuds/vulturemonem) for the DNA goss. I took what you told me and kind of ran with it a little. Hope you don't mind <3
> 
> i am total trash for star wars and the force awakens and i'm 100% unapologetic. 
> 
> based loosely on prompt 13 of [this list.](http://papalogia.tumblr.com/post/161224889381/uni-prompts-because-why-not)

Deoxyribonucleic acid - hereditary material in humans and almost all other organisms. Colloquilally known as DNA, and possibly Isabelle Lightwood's favourite thing to study. Genetics, the way that things slot together like puzzle pieces, the way it all fits and makes sense because at the basis of most things lies DNA.

Understanding _that_ leads to understanding people at a biological level and that's fascinating.

No matter how complicated something might seem at first glance, when deconstructed it all reveals itself in deliberate and comprehensive sections; it is the act of taking it apart that reveals the truth, because not everything that the eye can see at first glance is all there is to behold.

Isabelle, being someone who quite likes to destroy the assumptions that people have of her at first glance, is rather fond of the depth that studying biology provides.

Isabelle has always loved science, loved the nitty gritty and the dark and gruesome, loved leading dissections when other kids in her class were fainting at the sight. At the same time, she's also always loved fashion and makeup and styling her outfit to match her lab gear, because the potential is there and not to be wasted. She's never understood why there has to be such a divide, why makeup is for girls and science is for lanky dudes with glasses and acne - stereotypes are better left squashed into the dust than ever let out into the light of day and she fully intends to be a driving force for exactly that.

Gender roles do not define what a person does. Their interests do.

Isabelle Lightwood's interests have lead her to studying biochemistry, and she wouldn't change that for the opinions of bigots anywhere. They can shove their opinions where the sun doesn't shine for all she gives a damn.

 

* * *

 

 

"If it's so difficult, and gives you such a headache, then why are you studying it?"

Isabelle arches her back, stretching her tired muscles after having hunched over in the same position for the last hour or so with her Fundamentals of Biochemistry textbook and laptop spread on the table in front of her. It may be hard, tiring and aching work - but it's so worth it.

"Because," She casts a long, exasperated glance at her brother. "It's what I want to do. You can't tell me that human rights and ethics in law is _easy_?"

Alec fidgets with the threadbare edges of his sweater sleeve. It's grey, faded in patches and at least three years past it's used-by date, but it's also his source of comfort, something he's been leaning on a lot in the past few years. After coming out to their parents at sixteen to a cold reception and unspoken but pointed threats, and then graduating high school and applying to NYU to study a branch of law Maryse and Robert Lightwood wouldn't dare a second glance at - life has been less than kind to Alec recently.

It's picked up a lot since he moved out and into a dormitory with his high school best friend, Jace, and he's excelling at his classes, but small comforts remain exactly that.

"Good point," Alec admits. Studying together has become a habit they've picked up in the recent months since Isabelle joined him, not that their studies have anything in common. It's the support rather than the information they depend upon.

Isabelle highlights a line in her textbook before looking back at her brother. Alec is staring at his screen with a scrunched forehead, and twitching nose, one hand scrubbing at his jaw almost mindlessly.

"Hey," She waits for his gaze to meet hers before continuing. "I guess none of the Lightwood children are going to live up to Mom and Dad's standards."

Alec frowns, pressing a few buttons on his keyboard before steepling his hands beneath his chin. "What about Max? Doesn't the ... well, the burden land on him, now?"

Isabelle smiles fondly, a hint of amusement in the quirk of her lips at how naive her dear brother can sometimes be. "Haven't you heard? He's going to work with comics and graphic novels - last we talked, he was undecided about what part, the writing or the drawing, but he's adamant that's the area he's going to work in. I doubt the Lightwood monarchs are going to approve of that."

A half-smile plays at Alec's mouth. "I doubt they will. At least the playing field will be even, if they disapprove of us all, there can't be any defined favourites."

Isabelle nods. "That is true."

"Do you ever-" Alec blinks, mouth pursed as he searches for the right words. Isabelle, used to her brother's proclivities, waits patiently. "Do you ever wish that they did approve? Of your life choices and, otherwise."

Isabelle's coming out had been a little louder than Alec's. She'd been caught, a small while after Alec had told their parents he was gay, in the upstairs closet of the Branwell house with their esteemed - and beautiful - daughter Lydia in a fairly compromising position.

The situation was handled the only way they knew how - Isabelle was grounded for 'the foreseable future' which lasted all of a month, and treated to a harsh and explosive lecture once they were back in the privacy of their own home. Not that it stopped Isabelle and Lydia from continuing their relationship for the next few months before it slowly fizzled out. It was a good relationship, if not lasting - of gentle kisses and fun dates and the chance to safely explore what neither of them understood at the time.

Despite still being interested in guys, all Maryse and Robert could consider is their precious daughter's foray into the unthinkable. They'd done everything, from detailing her promiscuity to blaming Alec for leading her down a hedonistic path, but none of it had bothered Isabelle.

By then, she was happy and comfortable with who she was, and her parent's disapproval wasn't going to stop her from enjoying it. Sure, they talk a lot less now than they used to, and it hurts like an old wound when she let's herself think about it. But she has Alec, and Max, and Jace - begrudgingly - and she's still in regular contact with Lydia. She's got her own ragtag family, and if her parent's can't accept her, than they can't be a part of her life the way they want. It's give-and-take, not dictate.

"They're the ones making a choice, Alec." Isabelle saves the document on her laptop and closes both it and the textbook, figuring it's only fair to give herself a break. She won't remember anything if she forces herself to continue. "We shouldn't have to change for them."

Alec exhales deeply, shutting down his own laptop. He leans his elbows on the table and stares, a flood of tight emotions in his eyes. Isabelle's always been able to read him, the little signs and quirks that give him away to someone trained as she is to notice.

"I know," His voice is tired and ragged. "I know, I'm not - I'm not saying that we should, I'm just - don't you ever wonder if it would be easier if we were, you know-"

"The perfect model children?" Isabelle suggests, a hint of wry distaste to her tone. "Heterosexual and following in their footsteps like lapdogs? No, thank you. I'd rather live my life and be happy than conform to their ridiculous ideals and be miserable for the rest of my life."

Alec rakes a hand through his hair, messing it up even more in his frustration. "That's not - I just mean ... some days it feels like a load of uneccessary stress, you know? I can't talk to my own parents about my relationship because they don't think it's valid. Neither of us can mention our studies because we'll just get slammed for what we 'decided' to study, even though it's the only thing we want to do, just because what we _want_ doesn't align with what they expect of us."

Isabelle stacks her belongings, stands up and pushes her chair in, before rounding the table to flop into the chair beside Alec's. She takes one of his hands in her own and tilts her head so that he has no choice but to look at her, knowing that this is the kind of situation where birth order is irrelevant.

"This isn't your problem, Alec. You can't be expected to live a lie for your parents sake. They should respect you enough to accept you for who you are, and if they can't do that, then they can-" She presses her lips together, cautiously casting her gaze towards the librarian roaming the halls. It's probably not best to blurt out expletives in the campus library.

Alec worries at his bottom lip, but there's an understanding in her eyes. "I know, and you're right, it's just - something I think about sometimes. A what-if stream of consciousness."

Isabelle squeezes his hand comfortingly. "I know. I think about it too," She admits quietly. "You're bound to, Alec, that can't be helped. What can, is how you deal with it. Try not to let it affect you. You're acing your classes, you have a gorgeous boyfriend - how is he, by the way?"

Alec feigns a glare, his stern look dissipating when Isabelle smirks playfully. "Technically, he's not actually my boyfriend. We've been on, what, three, four dates?"

"You haven't _DTR-ed_ yet?" Isabelle asks, a little surprised, though she disguises it as teasing.

Alec stares at her in deep and astounded confusion, his eyes creased at the edges, forehead lined and a sliver of worry to the line of his mouth. "What the hell does that even mean?"

Isabelle rolls her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. "Define the relationship. I guess that's a 'no' then? Seriously, you should probably talk to Magnus about this. He might think you're not that interested in him."

A rosy pink rises on Alec's cheeks, and he darts his gaze. "I don't-" He swallows thickly. "I don't think that is a problem."

Isabelle takes great delight in teasing her older brother, but beneath her mirth she's truly happy for him. She's never seen him this bright and joyful before, and whilst some of it is surely because he's living his life for himself and not someone else, a lot of it, she's sure, stems from his recent budding relationship with the fashion/business major, and all-round hottie Magnus Bane.

"I still think you should talk about it," Isabelle offers a sly smirk. "Providing you've given yourselves ample time to _talk_ that is."

Alec glares at her, as heatedly as he can, but she's not bothered. "We talk." He chokes out, the pink on his cheeks now a blotchy red. "We just haven't gotten around to _that_ yet."

Isabelle squeezes his hand and offers a warm smile, knowing her brother well enough to presume that he has more to say on the matter, if she waits. Patience works best in her favour.

Alec shrugs, a his mouth parting in a weak imitation of a goldfish. "It's been so much fun, Iz. It's just, it's been so easy and I don't have to overthink it because he _makes_ it so easy, being with him is just so, effortless and I - I don't want to ruin that."

Isabelle squeezes his hand comfortingly. "I don't think you're going to ruin anything, _hermano_. I've seen you and Magnus together, I'm almost certain that he feels the same. Before you know it, you'll be strutting around with your _boyfriend._ "

Colour has spread to the tips of Alec's ears, but there's an honesty to his smile that soothes Isabelle's internal concerns. "I like the sound of that," He admits, reservedly.

"Then go for it," Isabelle declares. "You really have nothing to lose, Alec. He won't break up with you for making your relationship official. He might even be glad."

Alec has dated in the past, but not like this. It's never gotten this serious before, and certainly never this early, and Isabelle understands that he's reasonably nervous about saying the wrong thing and scaring Magnus away. Having seen them together, seen the sparkle in Magnus' eye when he looks at Alec, Isabelle doubts that he'll be scared off that easily. If Jace, and Isabelle herself, haven't turned Magnus away yet, it's unlikely that anything will.

"What about you?" Alec asks, effectively altering the route of their conversation. "How's your dating scene?"

It's a credit to how much he loves her, that he's willing to discuss both his own and her dating life without squirming. Probably due to overexposure in their early teens - Isabelle hadn't really given him a choice to listen or not. She'd just talked.

"There isn't really a dating scene," Isabelle tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "My last relationship was ... Meliorn. Wow."

Meliorn, an Arts major with a leaf tatto on the curve of his cheek and a penchant for meditating in Central Park, had been nice and kind and fun, but their relationship was never destined to be anything more than a casual fling - they still talk, and wave if they spot each other on campus, but their physical and romantic relationship has faded out.

Alec, having been there for the greatest hits of Isabelle's best and worst, just smiles in that small, I'm-your-brother-and-I-love-you kind of way. "Sorry," He mutters, sheepishly. "It's not really fair of me to be flaunting my relationship drama - not that it's drama at all - when you don't even have one."

Isabelle brushes off his comment with a quick wave of her free hand. "Don't fret, brother dear. After all you've put up with, it's only fair. As long as you're happy, there's nothing to stress about."

"I am," Alec whispers. "Happy that is. And you?"

Isabelle shrugs a casual shoulder. "Nothing's perfect, but I don't expect it to be. I'm content and once I smash this exam I'll be even happier."

Relationships aren't the center of her universe, and she doesn't want them to be. That doesn't, however, mean that Isabelle doesn't ocassionally wish she had someone to share the good parts of her day, and a tub of ice-cream whilst watching Pretty In Pink, with.

Just because she doesn't need a relationship, doesn't mean she doesn't want one.

 

* * *

 

Isabelle is aware of her own beauty. It's something she takes pride in, and not something that she takes for granted. She goes to great lengths to ensure that she respects her body and the beauty that she's been gifted with.

As the adage goes, though, both a blessing and a curse - fitting, to a degree, what society deems as beautiful often leads her to being objectified and subjected to horrible taunts and leers by creepy and perverted people - most often men, but by no means always.

It's something she's come to learn how to deal with, and for the most part, she manages. Polite use of manners and, if that fails, just generally ignoring them seems to do the trick most times.

Today is not one of those times.

 

-

 

"Hey, gorgeous."

Isabelle inhales a deep breath and looks up from her molecular biology notes. A tall, rather buff man stands before her, grinning with blindingly white teeth, exuding an aura of smug, _I'm hot and you want me_ , which is in itself an instant turn-off. Isabelle's not really one to stereotype, but she's run into a lot of men who appear and act similiar to the guy in front of her, and they're always self-righteous and just general jerks, believing that they're God's gift to women and a load of similiar crap.

"Hi," Isabelle summons a polite smile. Manners, Alec always used to say, cost you nothing. Whilst not always true, it is common sense. "Can I help you?"

The guy rakes a leering gaze down her body and then back up with a smirk. "I sure hope so."

Isabelle's not even wearing that promiscuous of an outfit. Tight-fitting grey jeans, black ankle boots, loose white top and red leather jacket. Her hair falls down around her in cascading waves and her makeup is minimal but deliberate. Nothing that calls out for unwanted attention, the way outfits she wears to nightclubs might, the way a sports bra shouldn't, but inevitably does.

Isabelle raises an unamused eyebrow. "Anything in particular, or can I return to my studying?"

The man's dark gaze flickers to her textbooks. "What's a pretty girl like you studying, anyway? Fashion? Cosmetology?"

Isabelle straightens her back and rolls out a crick in her neck. This guy doesn't seem like one to easily give up. Unfortunately, for him, neither is she.

"Biochemistry, actually. With a minor in molecular biology. I'm going into forensic pathology when I graduate, _thanks for asking_." The words curl out from her tongue, sharp and sickly sweet.

Unnerved, the guy smirks, gaze cast over her predatorily. "Beauty and brains. You just have the whole package, don't you?"

A bitter taste paints the back of Isabelle's throat. She forces a swallow and smiles curtly with the corners of her mouth. "You're not one to give up, are you?" She asks, though it's clearly a rhetorical question.

"Not when it comes to things I want," The guy inclines his head, his gaze firmly located somewhere below her eyes.

Isabelle has had enough. It's one thing to pass by fleeting looks of appreciation, another to be forced to endure such direct incivility and a revolting disregard for personal space or general respect, just because she's an attractive college-aged woman with a chest.

Isabelle inhales deeply, summoning what little patience she has left. "Okay, seriously-"

"Hey, babe - here's your coffee."

Isabelle's gaze flicks towards the chair opposite her own, startled as a girl with bright, strawberry blonde hair tied up in a high ponytail and a warm smile settles into it as though she belongs there. There's a gleam in her forest green eyes that asks to be trusted, and inexplicably, Isabelle does.

"Thanks, love." Isabelle offers the new girl an award-winning smile. It's not that hard, she's rather cute, in an _I'm small but feisty_ kind of way. She glances begrudgingly back up to the jerk, who's still standing there, gaping like a fish out of water.

"If you don't mind," Isabelle smirks. "My girlfriend and I would like to be left in peace." The red-headed girl reaches over and squeezes her hand, and Isabelle has to fight to ignore the thrum of electricity over her skin at the sudden contact.

The guy's mouth tightens. "Girlfriend?"

"Look," The red-headed girl feigns a sweet smile, though there's a heat to her eyes that Isabelle imagines is a sign of a ferocious temper. This girl is certainly a force to be reckoned with. "Neither of us are interested in a jerk like you, so why don't you find someone just as brainless to bother, and leave us alone."

The guy splutters, his face reddening quickly, a throbbing vein popping out on his forehead. He quickly stalks off, grumbling the whole way, not that Isabelle has the energy or mind to care about how disgruntled he is that a pretty woman didn't want him.

Her attention is focused purely on the gorgeous girl opposite her, who's hand she is yet to let go of. She's truly - _beautiful_ , but in a peculiar way. Her features are soft, gentle curls of strawberry-blonde hair and peach cheeks, but her eyes are hard with defiance as though she's prepared to fight back against the world, and her smile is curved and coy, teasing. There's specks of coloured paint on her forearms, charcoal smudged on the tips of her fingers, a litter of sun-kissed freckles across the bridge of her nose and gracing her shoulders beneath the straps of her billowing lace pink top.

Isabelle's comfortable in her own sexuality, but damn if this girl doesn't send her teetering.

"I'm sorry, for just sweeping in like that." Even her voice is cute, Isabelle thinks pitifully, forcing her attention to focus on the girl's eyes because _respect._ "You were clearly handling it, but I didn't feel comfortable just letting that sleaze-bag ... I hate guys like that. They're disgusting."

Isabelle shrugs. "I'm used to it."

The girl's gaze flickers, over the planes of Isabelle's face, a dusty pink colouring her cheeks. "You shouldn't be," She mutters. "It's not fair."

Isabelle squeezes her hand, more than aware they're still touching. "Thank you," She smiles, warmly, taking her hand away only to pick up the coffee cup that had been the ploy of her saving grace. "And, thank you for the cofee."

The girl thumbs with the lid of her own drink. "You're welcome."

Isabelle reads the scrawl on the side of the cup, and stills. She's never been one to believe in destiny, but if there was ever a sign of fate ... this would be it. "You even got my order right," She whispers, in awe.

"Well," The girl glances quickly towards the counter, where a guy with black-rimmed glasses and a Darth Vader shirt waves between serving customers. "My, uh, friend works here and he relayed your order for me. I thought it would be the safest way to intervene, that way even if you were offended I could offer an apology-drink, and then get out of your way."

Isabelle shakes off the idea with a tilt of her head. "No apology needed. And no need to go anywhere." She offers a hand. "I'm Isabelle. Isabelle Lightwood."

The girl takes her hand, smiling as though she's witnessed something curious and wonderful. "Clary Fray."

Isabelle raises their joined hands, and presses a soft kiss to the back of Clary's. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Clary Fray."

 

* * *

 

A few days later, Isabelle's hurrying across campus, dipping beneath outcrops and ledges, papers and textbooks clutched protectively to her chest. She has a meeting with her tutor that she can't miss, but with the rain pouring down and no way to safely get through it, the likelihood of getting there in time is quickly dwindling down.

She can't miss it, she has a drastically important exam soon and if she fails that she'll have to redo her entire course and she's spent far too much time and effort to have it all go to waste.

Isabelle is legitimately questioning how well her morals will stay in-tact if she uses her family name to push the administration to reschedule her exam, because her tutor has a life of his own and can't organise everything around her - she isn't her parents, after all. Then, she spots a flash of red hair and something akin to relief settles in the middle of her chest.

"Clary?" She calls out, trying to be heard over the pounding rain.

"Isabelle!" Clary turns around, a bright grin on her face. She's standing outside a campus information outlet, phone in hand. She waves, and Isabelle rushes over on careful heels, her fingers wrapped tightly around her possesions. She's sure she's never been happier to see another person before.

They've texted here and there, but never had a spare chance to actually get together and do something properly. Which is a downright shame, because Clary is as interesting as she is pretty, more than; she can draw better than anyone Isabelle has ever known, her step-father is a cop and her mother owns an antique shop, she has a birthmark in the shape of a star on her shoulder and most of her childhood was spent running around the streets of Brooklyn with her nerdy best friend, playing pirates, and spies, and heroes and villains.

Isabelle is already so enchanted by what she already knows, she can't imagine how spun she'll be once she's been gifted with all there is _to_ know about Clary.

"Leave the stove on?" Clary jokes, laughter lines creasing the corners of her glittering eyes. Isabelle had let on about the endless teasing she's received from her brother due to her lack of skills in the kitchen, to, it seems, Clary's utter delight.

Talent she may lack, but determination she has an abundance of.

"No," Isabelle allows the warmth of gentle teasing to wash over her. Clary just causes something undefinable and tantalising within her. Unlike anything she's ever felt. "I have a meeting I'm late for. The rain is, halting my progress somewhat."

"Do you want to borrow my umbrella?" Clary asks, already sliding her backpack off. "I'm waiting for Simon, so it's not like I need to go anywhere."

"You're sure you won't need it?" Isabelle asks, heat blooming on her cheeks. She's being slowly and surely undone, like an unravelling spool of thread.

"Simon will have one, I'm sure." Clary shrugs, her faith in her friend boundless. "And, you clearly need it more than I do." She rummages through her backpack, pulling out a clear plastic umbrella with a pattern of falling autumn leaves.

When she passes it to Isabelle, their hands brush, sparks dancing across their skin where contact meets. Isabelle swallows, warm despite the cool air and the never-ending rain around them.

"Maybe, we can meet back up, when you're done?" Clary suggests, thinly-veiled hope threaded through her light tone. "You can give me my umbrella back, and ... I don't know, get a bite to eat, or something?"

Isabelle lets an easy smile spread. "I'd like that," She replies. She really, really would.

Acting on impulse, Isabelle leans forward and brushes her lips quickly across Clary's, soft and over far too quickly. When she steps back, Clary is blinking at her with dazed eyes and pleasant smile.

"Thank you," Isabelle says, earnestly. She waves, and walks away, knowing that if she doesn't, she won't make it to her meeting at all.

 

* * *

 

Movie night.

A casual, off-handed suggestion by Clary after Isabelle had complained about her full and hectic week, and how that unfortunately left her without much time to do anything fun.

Technically, Clary had invited Alec, and Magnus along - Clary trying her best to amend whatever she'd done to offend Alec, who seemed to take an instant disliking towards her - but they had plans of their own and politely, in Magnus' case, declined.

Simon, Clary's best friend, had also been invited, but had already organised band practice for that night. Which left only Clary and Isabelle on a pseudo-third date, the friction in the air electric and palpable.

Not helped by Clary's thin cotton top and the way she doesn't mind pressing her fingers to the pulse point of Isabelle's wrist and just _holding_ them there, or the warmth radiating against Isabelle's bare arm.

They've only been on a few dates, kissed a few times, but that's it. They're taking things slow and careful and while it's a lot of fun, Isabelle's never really been good at self-control, and Clary is _irresistible._

Isabelle doesn't know when to approach the subject of _more,_ because Clary is unlike anyone she's ever met, ever liked, ever dated. She's never cared like this before, never been worried about making the wrong move or saying the wrong thing, and it's - disorienting. She's teetering on unstable ground, no path behind, no path in front, just a rocky outcrop she has to keep balance on.

She always moves in too hard, too fast. She doesn't want to do that with Clary.

So they date and kiss and Isabelle swallows the questions that burn a trail of fire up her throat.

 

- 

 

Clary's head is resting against Isabelle's shoulder, fingers lightly stroking the soft skin of Isabelle's inner wrist, almost absently. Isabelle's heart is thudding passively inside her chest, the way it always seems to in Clary's presence, unwitting and uncontrollable. It's only when Finn, the rebel clone forging his own path, and Poe Dameron, the loyal fighter pilot of passionate heart, reunite with a warming hug, that Clary speaks up.

"It's so sweet," She whispers. "How they just flock together. And Poe's little quip about his jacket? I mean, they're so clearly meant for each other, they should just ask each other out. It would be nice of the galaxy to give them a break for like, a week, to properly get to know each other. I bet Poe has a really interesting past..."

Isabelle, charmed by Clary's utterly adorable nerdiness, presses a soft kiss to Clary's forehead. "How many times have you watched this film?" She asks, presuming it's more than once.

Clary glances up, blinking innocently. "A few."

Isabelle huffs out a soft laugh. She's not surprised. It's just another part of Clary that she's fascinated by - of which there is a lot.

Clary's still looking at her, watching, an indecipherable glint in her green eyes. The corner of her mouth tightens, as though she's thinking about something, pondering, not that Isabelle can presume the subject.

"Isabelle," She whispers the name like a prayer. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

It's not something they'd crossed. Something Isabelle had always considered, hoped, but never dared to ask. And then Clary sweeps in out of nowhere, a common enough occurence, and rocks Isabelle's entire standing.

"Yes," She exhales the word, realising that at least a minute had passed and she hadn't answered. "Yes, absolutely."

Isabelle surges forward, closing what little distance remains between them and presses her lips to Clary's. There's no urgency to the kiss, no rush or heat, it's just a pleasant move of smiles and leaking happiness, wrapped up in the moment, the movie still playing on screen completely forgotten in the name of something more present.

Isabelle shifts, until her leg is swung over Clary's lap, knees resting outside Clary's thighs, her hands stroking up Clary's arms. She graces her thumb over the freckles on Clary's shoulders, small dots the colour of clay, scattering her skin like constellations.

"You're beautiful," She whispers, pressing a kiss to each shoulder. Clary's staring with quirked eyebrows, as though she doesn't believe Isabelle's purely truthful words.

"Iz," She smiles, but it's a little weak. "Have you _seen_ yourself?"

"Quite a few times," Isabelle leans forward, only pausing when her nose is close enough to brush against Clary's. "But right now, I'm looking at you - at something _beautiful._ "

Clary shakes her head in disbelief, but her smile is stronger and Isabelle thinks that her point has been made. "I wouldn't lie," She adds, for the sake of seeing happiness light up Clary's porcelain face. "It's my duty, as your girlfriend," _Girlfriend._ "To remind you of how gorgeous you are."

Clary strokes the skin beneath Isabelle's top, almost absently, fingers pressed to the small of her back. "That might occur a lot," She admits, in a rare moment of open vulnerability.

Isabelle draws Clary in for a warm, and hopefully convincing, kiss. Clary softens, plaint beneath Isabelle's skilled mouth, her hands tight on Isabelle's back. It's quickly becoming one of Isabelle's favourite things to do - kiss Clary. Her _girlfriend._

When they pull back, Clary is smiling, her eyes brilliantly alight. Something tender blossoms in the center of Isabelle's chest. "I'll say it as many times as I need to," Isabelle promises, her fingers stroking delicate circles against the curve of Clary's neck.

She'd do anything to make Clary smile the way she is right now.

 

* * *

 

"No,"

Clary's smiling, but her shoulders are squared, arms folded over her chest defiantly. Isabelle sighs, plum lips pursed in a brooding pout. They don't have that long before they have to leave, to get to Pandemonium in time to meet up with Magnus, and Clary's lack of cooperation isn't helping.

"Please," Isabelle draws out the word to further her point. "I promise you'll look great. Don't you trust my taste?"

"Of course I trust your taste," Clary's eyes soften, but the corners of her mouth are tight. "Your spatial judgement, however, is another thing."

She gestures fleetingly at the dress in Isabelle's hands, a black lace number that Clary protests won't reach past her hips, and Isabelle promises will end perfectly mid-thigh. They've been arguing over it for the past five minutes, neither one willing to give in, or back down.

"Clary," Isabelle lifts her free hand, and tucks her fingers beneath her girlfriend's chin. "I promise. You will look ... well, ravishing, but thankfully that's no one's business but mine." She winks, admiring the flush of heat on Clary's cheeks. "Just, try it on for me? Please?"

Clary holds her gaze for a beat before exhaling slowly, posture crumbling with defeat. "Fine," She hols a hand up, halting Isabelle's glee. "But if it doesn't fit, I get to choose my own outfit."

Isabelle, having faith in her own fashion skills, nods. "Sounds fair." She brushes a fleeting kiss against Clary's lips, unable to help herself. "Now go," She pushes the dress towards Clary. "I wanna see how hot you look in it."

Clary's cheeks are pink, but she heads off into Isabelle's bathroom anyway, which Isabelle counts as a success. She's teasing, for the most part - she's not actually going to dictate towards Clary what she has to wear, she just genuinely thinks her girlfriend would look amazing in it, not that she doesn't look good in just jeans and a jacket, of course.

It's just, Pandemonium is a pretty popular nightclub, and if Magnus and herself are rocking up in their finest threads, it's only fitting that Clary does the same. And Isabelle has _fantastic_ taste.

"It's still very short," Clary calls out from the bathroom. "And tight."

Isabelle smirks privately. "Is it on?"

"Almost."

Isabelle fidgets with her own outfit, a deep crimson cocktail dress that falls to her thighs with a slit up the side, and a rather delicate plunging neckline that highlights the ruby pendant adorning her throat. From her ears hang silver teardrops to match her necklace, and from her wrists the bangle her mother gave her when she was thirteen, one she's never taken off - an unspoken rule, but one she follows meticulously. Her shoes are black and strappy and perfect for a night of endless fun and fluid dancing.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this." Clary declares, walking back into the room. "My dignity will never live this moment down."

Isabelle feels her eyes slowly widen as she takes in every inch of her gorgeous girlfriend. "Clary," She whispers, jaw slack. "You look - there are no words. You look _amazing_."

Clary pulls at the hem of the dress - which does, in fact, end at a respective length. "Really?" Her forest green eyes are glittering, cast off by the stark darkness of the dress and the brightness of her hair, which she's let curl and fall against her shoulders.

Isabelle steps forward slowly, inclining her head to get _every last detail_ , to commit them to memory as though the moment will cease to exist otherwise. "I wouldn't lie," Isabelle tucks a strand of hair behind Clary's ear, the back of her hand brushing against Clary's heated cheek. "You're beautiful Clary, no matter what you wear, but this dress-"

She shakes her head, a smile toying at her lips. Clary grins, stroking a slow hand up Isabelle's bare arm. "There really are no words, then?"

"No," Isabelle cups Clary's cheek, grasping at the curve of her hip with her free hand. "And thankfully, no need for them."

She leans forward, and Clary meets her halfway, lips already parted with an expectant breath. The kiss is slow and languid, but the press of Clary's hand against the small of Isabelle's back, the graze of her knuckles along Isabelle's neck, sends tantalising shivers down the dark-haired girl's spine. They move like one, lips and bodies flush together, no gap for space or air or anything else intrusive. It's electric and heart-pounding and Isabelle only pulls back when the trill of her phone reaches her ears.

Clary's eyes are closed, dark lashes casting long shadows against her cheek. Isabelle pecks each cheek quickly before spinning around and picking her phone up off the bed.

 

**Magnus** **:**

_Despite my best efforts, Alexander still refuses to join us. Apparently he and Jace are doing their own thing - a bro's night if I've ever heard of one. How far away are you two lovely ladies? x_

"Magnus is asking after us," She explains, tapping out a reply. "We should probably finish getting ready, otherwise we won't make it and he'll be waiting there all alone."

"Alec not joining in?" Clary smirks, the question clearly rhetorical. She stands before the mirror and fluffs her hair, her smirk softening when Isabelle stands behind her.

"No surprises there." Isabelle admits. She checks her makeup, clearing up a slight smudge along the bottom lip - she's invested in never-smudge lipstick, which has ensured she doesn't have to compromise between looking good and kissing her girlfriend. Truly a win-win.

"You look beautiful, too." Clary whispers, catching Isabelle's gaze in the reflection of the mirror. "You always, look beautiful though, so there's no surprise."

Isabelle puts on a brave exterior, something she loses around those who know her well, those like Clary, who see through it like glass. "Thank you," She exhales slowly. "We should probably stop flirting, though, at least until we get to the club."

She reaches for Clary's hand, interlocking their fingers. "There, I can drag you onto the dancefloor and spin you around until you're pink and dizzy."

Clary squeezes her hand. They've haven't been dating for that long, all things considered, a couple of months at the most, but it feels like longer. It's effortless, the time they spend together, and unexpected, how deep Isabelle's feelings go.

Clary leans forward, brushing a soft kiss against Isabelle's cheek. There's something indecipherable in her gaze, something that tugs at Isabelle's heart like they're made of thin strings. "You make me pink and dizzy."

Isabelle stares, in awe. It's too early to be considering the depth and meaning of her feelings, too soon and too risky and just - not a good idea. So instead she leans down, picks up a pair of black heels with a strap around the ankle and hands them to Clary with a winning smile, ignoring the erratic thudding of her heart.

The night is for dancing and fun, living in the moment, not looking forward to an unknowable future.

 

* * *

 

"Hey, babe."

Isabelle closes the door of her dormitory room behind with her a soft smile. It's not that surprising to find Clary sprawled on her bed, one headphone in, sketchbook laid out before her.

"Hey, Iz." Clary pulls her other headphone out, low music vibrating out of it, and swings her legs over the bed. Isabelle smiles, but then scrunches up her nose when Clary leans in for a kiss.

"At least let me have a shower, first." Isabelle declares, resting a hand against Clary's shoulder. "I'm all gross and sweaty."

After her afternoon lecture had been cancelled, she'd headed out to the gym for a much needed personal break. It's something she and her brother share, using a work out to rid themselves of stresses and concerns, a solitary activity that allows thoughts to roam free and tension to release in a healthy way.

However, it also leaves one very clammy, hot, and overall a little gross.

"So?" Clary shrugs, dismissing Isabelle's very reasonable concerns. "I want to kiss my girlfriend hello." She tucks a damp strand of hair behind Isabelle's ear. "I missed you."

Isabelle smiles, reaching up to cup Clary's cheek. "I missed you too," She admits. giving in, not that it's hard. She leans in, but doesn't let the kiss last for that long - Clary may not mind, but Isabelle does. She's damp and sticky and in desperate need of a shower.

"Give me ten minutes," She declares, her thumb stroking Clary's cheek. "Then we can continue this, or perhaps do something actually productive, like see a movie?"

Clary grins. "Alright," She pecks Isabelle's lips, and then pulls back reluctantly.

Isabelle just stands there, for a moment, weak on her feet. She manages to corner her thoughts until the most relevant ones are at the forefront, and crosses to her dresser to get clothes out, before she does something reckless.

While she's in the shower she hears Clary's music, now sounding through the phone itself without headphones as a barrier, and can't help but smile to herself. There's something undeniably lucky about the turn of events that had brought her and Clary together.

A chance interaction in an average coffee shop has lead to the best relationship she's ever had, and nothing but luck has caused it. It's not the kind of path one can plan, it's spontaneous and coincidental and all a matter of right place at the right time.

Clary is relaxing on the bed when Isabelle walks out, towel wrapped around her head, tight grey singlet tucked into artistically ripped black jeans and fluffy purple socks that Clary had recently bought her - because they're becoming _that_ couple.

Isabelle perches on the edge of her bed, and places a warm kiss on Clary's lips, her fingers tangling loosely with Clary's paint-spattered ones. Noting the sketchpad in her lap, Isabelle enquires: "What are you working on?"

Heat blooms on Clary's cheeks, but she slides the pad over for Isabelle to look. A light gasp of surprise sounds from between Isabelle's lips, her hand reaching out to brush against the grey lines and darker shades, her mouth hanging open in awe.

"This is," She shakes her head in surprise. "It's me, isn't it?"

The question is a silly one, considering the stark resemblance, but she has to ask anyway. Needs the clarification, the confirmation, from Clary herself, not supplied by her own hopeful mind.

"Yeah," Clary bumps her shoulder against Isabelle's, gently. She watches, as Isabelle flicks through, finding more and more sketches of herself, in thousands of situations and scenarios, some just her face, outlines of her eyes or her mouth or the ruby necklace she adores, some of her and Alec, her and Clary, some that must have been drawn live without her notice.

"You're my favourite subject." Clary admits, quietly. It sounds like a gift. A precious gift that Isabelle wants to scoop and hold protectively in her hands and never let go.

"I love you," She whispers, because she can't keep it inside, not anymore, not after what she's just found, what Clary has just admitted to her. It falls from her lips like the sweep of cool wind, wrapping around them, a twirling breeze of heartfelt words.

Clary turns to her, eyes wide, lashes fluttering as she stares, almost as though she's searching or waiting for something. A slow, easy smile spreads, her lips already parting to speak the words Isabelle is waiting to hear.

"I love you, too." She declares, unwinding the towel wrapped around Isabelle's head, letting loose her long, slightly damp curtain of hair. She trails a hand through Isabelle's hair, mindless or uncaring of its wet quality, and presses the tips of her fingers against the nape of Isabelle's neck.

Isabelle sucks in a sharp breath, but doesn't speak, any possible words caught in her throat. Clary _loves_ her. _Clary_ loves _her_. It's almost too much to take in.

Clary inclines her head, just staring. Interestingly enough, Isabelle doesn't feel like she's being studied or analysed, more as though Clary is just taking everything in, which Isabelle understands, as she's doing the same thing.

"I've never been in love, before." Clary admits, almost sheepishly, her fingers stroking circles against the nape of Isabelle's neck.

"Neither have I."

Isabelle can tell, by the sudden light in Clary's eyes, that it's a surprise to hear. Isabelle can understand how, she's sure that most people assume that she's been in love, with whom she's dated and her considerably extensive dating history, but it's never felt like this.

She cared for everyone she's dated, for some of them she still does, but she's never actually fallen in love before. She thought she had, was under the impression that love was what she felt, but now she knows she was wrong, because _this;_ the fluttering of her heart and the pleasant itching under her skin to just get closer to Clary, to never leave her side, the all-encompassing thoughts and the warmth that spreads at the mere thought of Clary - that's love.

The idea that a misogynistic jerk could lead to her first love rubs Isabelle the wrong way, but it's something she's had to accept, because she'd rather deal with the truth of their first meeting than not have met Clary at all.

Besides, Clary eclipses everything that jerk had said.

Clary is sunshine and laughter and hope, and light always outshines darkness. And Isabelle is lucky enough to have won her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Clary's umbrella.](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1TInoQXXXXXaHXpXXq6xXFXXXR/4-Colors-Leaves-Transparent-Rainny-Sunny-font-b-Umbrellas-b-font-font-b-Cute-b-font.jpg)
> 
>  
> 
> (I have to admit I felt SO uncomfortable writing the scene between Ultimate Het!Male jerk and Isabelle. She deserves better.)
> 
> until next week...


	2. hang with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jace isn't in love with Simon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from 'Rose-Coloured Boy' by Paramore
> 
> -
> 
> set around the same time/a little after chapter 1. :) mostly parallel, but it does cross past the events of chapter 1.

Alec and Jace have been best friends since they were thirteen, when Alec was the only one who gave Jace, the resident new kid, a friendly smile and a chance. In return, Jace had stood up against anyone who dared say a bad word in Alec's direction - as a scrawny teenager, taller than most, Alec was often on the receiving end of nasty glares, and even crueller quips, which Jace was more than willing to stare down on his friend's behalf.

From then on, they were inseperable.

Now, at nineteen and twenty years of age, respectively, Jace knows pretty much all there is about Alec. Even his fleeting adolescent crush on the blonde isn't a secret, though it had only come out after a high school party and the alcohol-induced loosening of Alec's tightly-sealed lips.

They have a very close relationship, always have, and they tell each other everything. Which Jace has always found a good thing - he hates the idea of there being anything between them, because secrets are what ruin friendships, and Alec is his _best friend,_ the _best person_ he knows. Having a wedge driven between them would probably break him.

So secrets are nonexistent. That is, until Alec starts dating and it begins to intrude upon Jace's _time_ and _personal space,_ and Jace starts wishing that maybe they weren't so close...

  


* * *

  


"You two are gross."

Jace walks into his dorm room, the one he's shared with Alec the entirety of their freshman year, and now almost half-way into their sophmore year, to a situation that isn't all that surprising.

Alec glares, his head poking above Magnus', who's leaning against Alec's broad chest with a practiced ease. "Excuse me?"

"You two," Jace waves articulately at the both of them, not bothered by Alec's stern gaze. "Are gross. All, you know, love-dovey and - and _gross._ "

A blotchy red colours Alec's cheeks, crawling up his neck to the tips of his ears. Jace, smirking in a very self-satisfied way, drops his bag at the corner of his bed. "Hey, Magnus." He salutes.

He hasn't always been fond of Magnus, what with his sudden appearance in Alec's life, and his habit of taking all of Alec's time and company - but he's an okay guy, and he makes Alec happy (even if the fool can't admit the depth of his own feelings yet) and that's all that Jace needs.

He'd given Magnus the necessary shovel-talk after Alec had started spending the night in the other's dorm, and Magnus' response had been a very clear and understanding "I promise, I wouldn't dare hurt him. I'd rather _be_ hurt, than cause any harm to Alexander" - and knowing that his best friend was safe, and cared for, and that Magnus understands how special Alec is: that's all that Jace needs.

So whilst they're not exactly buddies, he and Magnus have a heathy respect for each other, and that's as far as things need to go.

"Evening, Jace." Magnus nods in response, his hand tangled with Alec's. They're watching something, on the big screen TV that Alec had managed to swipe _before_ his parents cut off his allowance - Jace had literally high-fived him over that.

Although his parents still, albeit reluctantly, pay for the fees of both Alec and his sister, Isabelle's studies, if only to keep their good standing in their social circle.

Jace isn't exactly their biggest fan. For good reason - ostracising their own children for their sexual orientation and then bad-mouthing them in the privacy of their home for their career prospects - though he's sure they talk them up in false pretence around their friends - are not qualities that Jace admires.

"I thought you had work?" Alec raises a suspicious eyebrow.

Jace runs the campus coffee van most afternoons, and on weekends he and Alec host self-defence classes at a nearby Dojo - Alec also runs children's martial arts sessions during the week, as he'd taken similiar classes when he was younger, at the same place, and it had become a home away from home for him. Working there is like giving back to the place that had been a cornerstone of his childhood, and it pays pretty well, a feature Jace appreciates more than Alec.

Jace shrugs, shucking off his leather jacket and flinging it on the end of his bed. 'It's empty out there. Don't really know why, but there's no point working if there's no one out there to make coffee for. Sorry for ruining the mood."

Magnus waves a dismissive hand, contradicting Alec's murderous stare. "We're just watching a movie, Jace, we're not _ravishing_ each other. You're welcome to join, if you'd like."

Alec is staring at him, shaking his head almost imperceptively - were it not for how long they've known each other, Jace probably would have missed it. He grins, wolfishly, and settles on his own bed. He doesn't want to consider how closely Magnus and Alec are sitting to both fit on the king single.

"I'd love to," He says. He doesn't even know what they're watching - he recognises Amy Adams, and ... is that Hawkeye? - but he's never one to pass up an opportunity to ruffle Alec's metaphorical feathers.

It's worth it, until Alec smirks at him, challengingly, and then proceeds to make out with Magnus with no care to their audience or the discomfort it's causing.

  


* * *

  


Jace would like to say that he loves Alec. That he loves his best friend, that he would do anything for him, that he would burn down the world for the sake of Alec's happiness.

But right now, that's not true. Right now, he _loathes_ Alec.

It's past midnight, on a Friday, and instead of sleeping, or even changing out of his damp, kind of smelly clothes, he's stuck in the main lounge of the dormitory floor, having been kicked out of his own room because Alec and Magnus got there before he did.

Jace had been at an upperclassman's party, where he'd drunk a few beers, casually flirted with a few girls, and the odd guy - something new he's discovering, naturally, at college - and then returned to the hall with the hope of collapsing on his bed and sleeping into the late hours of the morning before his first defence class.

He'd sprinted at the first whispers of heated moans through the door. That is not something he needs to walk into - why they can't do it in Magnus' room, he has no idea, especially considering Magnus doesn't even have a roommate. He was one of the lucky few that scored a one-person room, they should be making the best of it, not ruining Jace's chance at a good night's sleep.

So instead, he's curled up on a slightly itchy couch with a tub of cookie dough ice-cream on his lap because he's not above indulging in cold treats to make himself feel better. He'll burn it all off tomorrow, anyway.

He's scrolling casually through Twitter, not really paying attention to much, just trying to keep his mind of thoughts of the utterly depraved acts being committed in his room - depraved purely for the invasion of his privacy, not the act itself. Alec can do whatever he wants with his boyfriend, just not a few feet away from the place that Jace sleeps each night.

Deep in his own introspective thoughts, Jace doesn't immediately notice the presence of another person.

"Oh," An awkward squeak perks Jace's attention, the sound quickly followed by the clearing of a person's throat. He glances up from his phone, the room dimly lit by the old, energy sucking light bulbs.

His gaze lands on a lanky guy, probably his height, with black-rimmed glasses slightly askew on his nose, and hair in disarray. In his hands he's clutching a guitar, which brings to question his morals, being in a student lounge at 2am with an instrument in hand, and everything.

Not that Jace is exactly in a position to judge.

"I didn't think there would be anybody down here," The new guy admits, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously with his free hand. "I can go somewhere else-" His gaze flickers to the ice-cream tub in Jace's hands. "If you want..."

"No, no." Jace gestures around the empty room. "I'm not selfish enough to want this all to myself. Or, need it." He pokes his spoon into the tub - he's running out of ice-cream. Shame. "What brings you here, anyway?"

The response comes with a scrunched up nose and discomfort etched into a tight, thin press of lips. "This couple, a few doors down from my dorm room are having, um, very loud and passionate _together time_ , and it's hard to sleep - or do anything, really, with all of _that_ going on."

_Damn it, Alec._

Jace grimaces, patting the seat opposite him on the couch. "That's - that's my roommate, and his boyfriend. I'm sorry on his behalf." He holds up the near-empty tub. "Ice-cream?"

There's something about the early hours of the morning, once the clock has ticked past twelve, that destroys one's inhibitions and any thread of common sense they may have had intact before.

"I'm Simon," The new guy - Simon - introduces himself, flopping on the couch, resting his guitar against the side it. "Simon Lewis."

"Jace." He pulls his knees up, handing the tub over, spoon tapping against the edges. "I have to ask, why the guitar?"

A dusty rose paints the tops of Simon's cheeks. It's kind of cute - Jace must be more tired than he thought."I was already fiddling with it - I'm in a band - to procrastinate my accounting homework and then, well, _that_ began to happen, so..."

Jace nods, jerkily. "Right. Again, sorry - I'll wring his neck about it later."

Simon's eyes widen, spoon pressed to his bottom lip. "You don't have to go to such extremes, I mean-"

Jace shakes his head, grinning despite his better instincts. "I'm not doing it for you, Simon. I'm doing it because this isn't the first time I've been kicked out of my own room."

Simon runs the spoon around the edges of the tub. "Do they do it, a lot, then?" He asks, somewhat conversationally. "Kick you out, to, you know..."

Jace loops his arms around his knees, leaning his head against the side of the couch. "Sometimes. They've been dating, seriously, for a few months now, so I'm used to seeing his boyfriend around - misfortune usually strikes because I leave for an extended period. It was a party tonight, I think last week it was a date ... which ended early, so my night was just _made_ then-"

He drops off when he realises that he's rambling to, basically, a complete stranger, who likely doesn't care about his problems, even if Simon is smiling and watching attentively.

"Why don't they move in together, then?" Simon asks.

Jace frowns. Simon - actually, Simon has a good point. "I don't know," He admits. "Alec - my roommate - is a little, emotionally repressed, I don't think he's quite ready to, you know, admit his feelings yet. They probably should, though, I mean they spend most nights together anyway..."

"Maybe it's something you should talk to him - Alec - about." Simon suggests. He has a ring of ice-cream above his top lip like a moustache. "Then, if he does move out, you can get some peace and quiet."

"Sure," Jace mumbles. The only problem then would be who he'd end up rooming with, because he won't be able to keep their room to himself. "Uh, Simon?"

"Yeah?"

"You've got-" Jace gestures to his own mouth. "Some ice-cream..."

"Oh, right." Simon's tongue flicks out to lick his lips, and Jace finds himself having to bite down on his own to stop the heat flooding his cheeks. This is ridiculous, he must have drunk more than he actually thought, to be having such a ... reaction.

"Thanks." Simon grins.

Jace clears his throat. "No problem."

"So," Simon stretches his foot, poking at Jace's ankle gently. "What do you do?"

"What do I do?" Jace asks, quirking a high eyebrow.

"You know," Simon waves the spoon airily. "What do you study? Where do you work, if you work, what do you do for fun-" He widens his eyes comically, lowering his voice and leaning forward until his face is mere inches from Jace's. "Who _is_ Jace?"

Jace pokes him back with his foot, and shrugs. "I work at a Dojo on the weekends, hosting self-defence classes, with Alec, and on most weekdays I run the mobile campus coffee van. I'm studying, uh, History, actually."

"History?" Simon echoes, sounding genuinely interested.

"Yeah - you know, revolutions - French, Russian, peasant - and empires, the fall of the Mayan empire and the Roman empire and how human greed can cause the destruction of an entire society."

He's surprised at his own glee. He doesn't talk about his courses that often, usually he pretends that he's less interested than he truly is, because he has this air of indifference that he's been working on since eighth grade, and when he talks about his courses he gets a little, nerdy. It's not that the thinks he'll be judged, per se - Alec has his passion for equal and human rights and refugees and ethics, Magnus has his fashion, Isabelle has her science stuff; they all have _things_ , but Jace can get very carried away.

He learnt, a long time ago, that people don't care as often as they say they do. Someone might pretend to be interested for the sake of being polite, but they don't actually care, and after seeing the attention die out of someone's eyes for the hundredth time ... he learnt it was easier to hold it all in and pretend to be aloof, because it's easier and safer and just _better._

"That's awesome."

Simon doesn't look like he's pretending. The attention in his eyes is bright and vibrant and more awake than anyone has any right to be at 2am. Jace curls up tighter against the corner of the couch, fingers locked together, glancing over at Simon in complete surprise.

"Really?" He asks, sounding more unsure than he usually allows himself.

"Yeah," Simon rakes a hand through his naturally disheveled hair. "That's - I mean, it's just fascinating, certainly more interesting than book keeping and assets. I've always thought history was cool, I just don't really have the brain for it, you know? There's a lot of facts and dates and-" Simon shakes his head. "No..."

Jace grins. "Doesn't accounting involve a lot of numbers, though..."

Simon groans. "Don't remind me. It was my mother's idea, she decided I needed a back-up option, an actual career."

"You had other plans?" Jace assumes.

Simon pats the guitar next to him. "Music. In, some way or another. As long as I got paid to play ... that was the dream."

"Do you still play?" Jace enquires. He's marginally surprised by his own interested.

"Yeah," Simon shrugs. "I have a band, and we play gigs every now and then, and the cafe where I work let's us play out Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. It's just not, my career - not a feasible career."

"Play something for me,"

Simon's eyes widen, almost comically. "What?"

Jace nods at Simon's guitar. "I want to hear you play. Neither of us have much else to do, right now, and I'm curious - can you _actually_ play, or are you truly destined to be a stuffy accountant in a suit for the rest of your life?"

Simon grins, a daring spark lighting his eyes. "Oh, I can play." He assures Jace. "Believe me."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

  


\--

  


Simon can play. Very well.

  


* * *

  


They become friends. It's weird and unexpected, but all of a sudden Jace finds himself spending more time with Jace, and while it's odd it's also kind of - nice.

How they haven't run into each other before that fateful night is a surprise, though, because it turns out that they run in close circles. Simon's best friend, Clary, a feisty little redhead, is the secret girl Isabelle has been dating for the past few months.

Small world and all that.

Jace, Simon, Alec and Magnus had all been hanging out in the student lounge, doing various things from studying (Alec) to painting nails (Magnus) to Mario Kart tournaments (Jace, who kicked Simon's ass over, and over again) when Isabelle ran in, Clary hot on her heels to spill the good news - now that their relationship was official, Isabelle felt comfortable introducing Clary to her friends and family.

And then Clary had walked in, watched Simon fall of the Rainbow Bridge, and whacked him pitifully up the back of his head, waxing poetic about the disgrace of her best friend.

All the pieces had come together after that.

  


\--

  


"Did I tell you that Clary's trying to set me up?"

Jace wipes the silver counter of the coffee shop van with a damp cloth, glancing down at Simon, who's leaning agains the van itself. "Set you up? Like, on a date?"

Jace isn't sure why he cares that much.

"Yeah," Simon folds his arms across his chest. He's wearing a shirt of his own band, Rock Solid Panda - it's a little ridiculous, and loud, a cartoon panda with an exploding background and big block letters ... but then, Jace can't judge much, because his shirt literally has his own name on it.

"Um," Jace frowns. "Why is she trying to set you up?"

"Over-invested in my love life?" Simon suggests. "I don't know - ever since she started dating, she thinks that I should be too. She thinks I'm _lonely_ which, well, I mean I'm not ... ever since I broke up with Maureen, my last girlfriend, she thinks I _need_ someone."

Jace slings the dishcloth over his shoulder. "Do you?"

Simon's nose scrunches. "No - I don't think so. I mean, I miss being that close with someone, but I don't think that my focus needs to be on dating. Clary probably just feels bad, because she's in a relationship and I'm not - you know, when we were, nine, I think, we were engaged ... it wouldn't surprise me if she thinks she needs to make up for ending our engagement on account of her being, well, gay and everything."

"You two are weird," Jace states. He glances out over the courtyard, but it's not that busy - the evening rush has passed, so he's stuck in the in-between quiet time. Which is good, because he gets the chance to clear up, and re-stock and other general administration that he can't get done when he's running back and forth with hot drinks.

And, of course, talk to Simon, who'd literally popped up out of nowhere and just started blabbing away. Jace doesn't even know how long he's been standing there, be it five minutes or fifteen - time seems to pass differently when Simon is around, as though it stops being a concept, stops being something worth noting entirely.

Simon doesn't even protest. "Yeah, we are. But it's worked for this long, you know, why touch it if it's not broken and all that."

"I guess."

Simon leans up on the tips of his toes, hooking his arms above the counter. "You and Alec never promised you'd be best friends forever, or anything?" He sounds a little surprised.

Jace shakes his head. "No. Alec and I were never like that - I mean, when we were fourteen I told him that he was my best friend, but, no, we never - did anything like that."

He leaves out Alec's crush, because it was a teenage thing that he grew out of, and not something that needs to be brought up again. Alec has made it perfectly clear that he in no way thinks of Jace like that anymore. They have a strong bond, like Jace has never had with anyone else, that he's pretty sure Alec hasn't either, but that's it.

"Actually, now that I think about it, I have a lot to thank Alec for at that age. I mean I wanted a buzzcut, which he managed to convince me out of, and the amount of close calls he saved me from, detentions and broken bones..." It was just how they worked. Jace was the foolhardy, reckless one, Alec his calming presence. The yin to his yang, whatnot.

Simon smirks, a daring glint in his eyes. "I would pay to see you with a buzzcut."

Jace flicks out the dishcloth, the end hitting Simon's hand - not enough to hurt, or even leave a mark, but enough to get his point across. Of course that is the part that Simon would focus on. "I'd pay for you to shut up."

Simon, with strong maturity, sticks his tongue out. "That's only going to make me talk more." He dares.

"Oh, God, the humanity," Jace slumps against the counter. "When will the torture end?"

He teases and quips, but really, Simon isn't that bad. Jace just can't let _him_ know that, because they have this repetoire going and it works for them, it works because Simon thinks that Jace just puts up with him and Jace pretends he doesn't have feelings and it _works._

It's as Simon said. Why mess with something if it's not broken?

  


* * *

  


With both of their best friends in relationships, Simon and Jace find themselves spending a lot of time together. It gets to a point where it's entirely feesable that Jace sees Simon more than he does Alec - they still see each other at work, and still hang out, just not as much, which leaves Jace with no other choice but Simon.

Or so he convinces himself.

He's actually grown ... quite fond of Simon. Yes, he talks a lot and about mostly nonsense and he always has a lame comback, and Jace is pretty sure that his cafe is stealing customers from the van - but he has honour and respect and he cares about his friends and he's kind without a fault.

It's an unexpected kind of friendship, but they make it work and Jace isn't one to question things that slot together so easily.

  


\--

  


"Yo, Herondale."

Jace looks up with a deliberately exasperated sigh. Simon, ever-unshakeable, flops into the seat opposite Jace's. How Simon has managed to corner him in one of the smaller student cafeterias, he doesn't know, and he's not about to ask. He just raises an unimpressed eyebrow and stares at Simon over his chicken wrap.

"Yes, Lewis?"

Simon kicks his feet up onto the chair next to him. "What are you doing a week from Saturday?"

Jace shrugs, picking at a stray lettuce leaf. "I don't know, that's further ahead than I generally care to think about. Why, planning for the apocalypse?"

"The apocalypse will come," Simon states as though it's a prophecy he has complete faith in - something Jace would believe were it not, of course, for the cheeky grin he's sporting. "And you will wish you were as prepared as I am." He softens, something serious taking over the roll of his shoulders. "But, as it so happens, I am having a birthday shindig and was going to invite you, providing you have no other plans, of course."

He sounds, oddly hopeful, albeit hesitant, as though he wants Jace to say yes but isn't quite sure he won't say no. Which is ridiculous.

"Your birthday is next week?"

A flush of pink creeps up Simon's ears. "Yeah. Thursday."

Jace blinks, a little caught off-guard. He's been friends with Simon for, well, months at least, how did he never know? Has he even told Simon when _his_ birthday is yet? And more than that, why is he so bothered by it?

"What kind of shindig are you throwing?" Jace asks, his voice strained around the edges. He clears his throat, pointedly. "The fact you're calling it a _shindig_ frightens me a little."

Simon glares, with little heat and a playful smirk. "Just a, you kn0w - get together of people and food and _balloons_ naturally, because what is a birthday party without balloons?"

"Not a good one," Jace responds good-naturedly.

"Exactly." Simon leans across the table and plucks a fry from Jace's plate, and Jace can't find a sliver of himself willing to care. "I convinced my boss to let me hold it at the cafe after-hours, so long as I clean up and everything, and Clary's mom, Jocelyn, is catering it - she makes _the best_ chicken cacciatore."

Jace stares. "Chicken cacciatore? Not exactly _party_ food is it?"

Simon widens his eyes and stares back. "I don't care."

They're very bright, a lighter brown than Jace would have thought at a distant's glance. Like polished mahogany, smooth and sparkling under the warm rays of the midday sun leaking through the floor-to-ceiling windows. And they're always happy, _Simon's_ always happy, he smiles with his eyes and and his entire body fills and exudes contagious joy.

Jace blinks, realising that he's almost definitely missed something that Simon has said. "Sorry," He shakes his head. "I missed that."

Simon smiles. "I said, I don't care that chicken cacciatore might not be party food, it's my favourite and it's what I want and by God it will be my birthday party and I'll have what I want there."

Jace, without sparing the action must thought, reaches over and pats Simon's hand, a little sarcastically. "I won't take that from you, Simon. I'll probably judge you in the moment, but I won't take it from you."

Simon flushes, and nods. "Okay. Sounds fair."

Jace tries not to focus on the heat radiating from Simon's hand, and distantly wonders what the hell he's supposed to get him for his birthday.

  


* * *

  


Clary's the kind of girl that draws immediate attention - Jace isn't sure what it is, her hair or the fierceness she just exudes, her almost rock-like refusal to budge if she doesn't want to.

She's the kind of girl that Jace would probably have dated, or tried to, in another world where she isn't gay and dating the sister of his best friend. As it is, they're a little closer than acquaintances, sort-of-friends, and the only person Jace can think of to help him find the best gift for Simon's birthday.

He finds her, unsurprisingly, in one of the smaller art rooms. The scent of turpentine is strong and assaulting, and not for the first time, Jace wonders how Clary can spend so much time in here without passing out from the fumes alone.

He shuts the door behind him and calls out her name, glancing around the room to see that, thankfully, they are the only ones in there. Clary doesn't respond, and upon closer inspection, Jace finds it's due to the white headphones popped in her ears.

He taps her on the shoulder, gently, to get her attention.

"Jace?" Clary pulls both headphones out slowly, confusion etched into her features. "What are you doing here?"

"I needed to talk to you," Jace states. "I need your help."

Clary's eyes widen, probably because of how serious Jace sounds. It's a little uncharacteristic for him.

"Okay," Clary pops the paintbrush she'd been weilding in a plastic cup, filled half-way with muddy water, and turns to face him properly. "What's up?"

"Simon's birthday is next week," Jace points out, feeling a little foolish afterward, because Clary, of all people, would know that much. The reserved look in her eyes tells him that his assumptions are correct. "And I don't know what to get him."

Clary frowns, just slightly. "You're worried about what to get Simon?"

"Yes," Jace sighs, he doesn't mean to be snipy, he's just - frustrated. "I have no clue, and it's next week and I don't want to run out of time and then just turn up with nothing."

"It's only Friday," Clary points out, unplugging her headphones and stuffing them in the pocket of her green jumper. "His party isn't until next Saturday. You have plenty of time."

Jace shrugs. He doesn't have anything to respond to that with. He knows, and he can't explain the _need_ inside of him to get Simon the perfect gift, he just knows that he has to. That Simon deserves the best present Jace can find for him.

"Look, I'm not busy right now," Clary smiles at him, soft and kind. "Just playing around with some things. I'm happy to go shopping with you, to help you find something - but you don't need to stress out. You could buy Simon a Happy Meal and he'd love it."

There's an unidentifiable glint in her eyes, one Jace can't decipher and one he's not sure he wants to. She's going to help him, that's all he needs to focus on.

"Thank you."

  


* * *

  


The party is in full-swing when Jace arrives, and though it sounds mean in his head, there are more people than he'd have expected. He didn't realise that Simon even _had_ so many friends, but there has to be at least fifty people here, if not more. He spots aforementioned birthday boy over in the corner, talking to Clary and a mocha-skinned girl with dark curls and silver hoops, hands waving enthusiastically.

Jace runs a hand through his slick-backed hair and smiles fondly to himself. There's a table laden with presents set off to the side, beneath a wide banner with _Happy Birthday Simon!_ written in beautiful cursive that couldn't have been made by anyone but Clary, and he heads over to place the gift he'd bought down, where he doesn't have to see Simon's reaction.

Clary had promised him that Simon would absolutely love it, but Jace can't fight the niggling doubt in the back of his mind, that he won't.

He spots Alec's dark hair through the crowd, his height drawing Jace like the swinging beacon of a lighthouse, and he exhales a deep breath and passes through, because he's feeling all tightly-wound and Alec has alway helped him calm down. Jace's teenage anger issues would have been a lot worse had Alec not been there, a calming presence beside him, and it's still something that Jace finds himself leaning on now.

"Hey,"

Alec turns, his arm wrapped loosely around Magnus' waist. Magnus is busy conversing brightly with Isabelle and barely notices as Alec's hand shifts to rest against the small of his back. They're such a disgustingly cute couple - Jace startles at the bittersweet pang of jealousy that strikes his heart; he's never felt _envious_ of Alec's relationship, before. Happy for him, yes, but never, _this_. Jealousy is such a dark and _ugly_ feeling, it spreads and taints and tears down one's mood and leaves nothing but a sour taste behind.

Jace worries at his bottom lip and swallows back the acidic impression scratching at the roof of his mouth. Alec is staring at him, forehead creased in worry and something all-too-familair flickering in his eyes.

"Jace?" He reaches out, his free hand brushing lightly against Jace's leather jacket. "Is everything okay?"

There's an unwavering concern in his tone, and it speaks of stressful nights and burning tears and the oddly sinking feeling that he's not alone. It's been a while since Jace has been faced with such a reminder, and the fact that it means there is something wrong, something that only Alec has a clue of, is stinging.

Jace has been telling himself that the tight anxiety that never seems to leave, is just because of incoming exams and natural stress - but there's more than that, more he can't figure out yet.

Simon's birthday party isn't the place to do that, though.

"Yeah," He forces a smile, in vain, of course, because Alec knows him better than to believe it, but Jace is pulling at weak threads by this point anyway. "I'm fine. Just, a little tired, I guess." He rakes a hand through his hair, reverting his gaze to sweep around the room, and not at Alec.

Alec wraps a hand around Jace's forearm with a gentle pressure. "You're not fine," He states, quietly, so that Jace is the only one who hears. "I'm not going to force you to talk about it, because that's not fair, and this isn't really the place. But if you want to talk about it, I'm here, okay?"

Jace nods, because he isn't sure how to tell Alec that he doesn't even _know_ what there is to talk about. The air around him is growing warm and suffocating with every breath he takes and there's a dull pulse in the back of his head like the steady beat of a drum.

He just, needs to get away, get some air, something. Get as far away from the sympathetic look in Alec's eyes as he can.

"I'll catch up with you later, okay man?" He claps Alec on the shoulder and summons as strong a smile as he can. He turns, without waiting for a reply, and fluidly makes his way through the mingling crowd.

As he passes, he offers weak smiles and greetings to people he knows or recognises, hoping that no one will try and actually have a conversation with him, because he just needs a minute to himself. His plan is to find the bathroom, hide out there for a few minutes until he can inhale without feeling the air scratch at his lungs, and then return with a blinding smile in place that will convince those who look his way, that he's fine. Totally fine.

No such luck.

"Jace?"

_Simon._

"Hey, man. Happy birthday," Jace smiles as brightly as he can, which isn't as hard as it had been around Alec, because Simon is looking at him with so much happiness he looks like he's swallowed the sun.

Simon moves forward, and before Jace even knows it, Simon's arms are wrapped around him in a tight hug. He reciprocates it, albeit a little stiffly, his hands patting Simon's back with a jerky movement, not that Simon seems to mind. When Simon pulls away, Jace is hit by a cold spot, shivers stroking down his spine despite his warm leather jacket.

"I mean, technically it was on Thursday, my birthday, that is-" Simon rambles, excitedly, as though Jace doesn't know, as though Jace hadn't spent a good while working out a text to send him for his birthday. "But thank you. I'm-" Simon pauses, his cheeks pink - he must be warm, too. "I'm really glad you came."

"Well," Jace shrugs, aiming for nonchalance. "It's not like I had anything better to do."

Simon, probably on account of how much time they've spent together, seems to catch the humour in Jace's words. "As long as you got me a present, you're welcome to stay."

Jace nods towards the long table on the side. "I did. I, uh, put it over there, with the others."

Simon grins. "Is it the big one with silver wrapping and a bright pink bow?"

It's not. But Jace finds himself smiling anyway. "You wish."

"It's not a jack-in-the-box, is it?" Simon asks, sounding a little frightened. "I had a, rather uncomfortable experience with one when I was a kid, I just found this box and, you know, curiosity killed the cat and everything, so I opened it and the thing jumped out and then I fell and bumped my head - it wasn't pretty."

Jace stares, eyes wide. "No," He responds, slowly, a grin spreading with each syllable. "No, it's not a jack-in-the-box. I'll keep it in mind, though. For future reference."

Simon fiddles with the frame of his glasses, adjusting them a little nervously on his nose. He glances around, gaze fleeting, and then leans in closer, presumably to speak to Jace without being overheard. Jace swallows past the lump in his throat, Simon's cologne wafting in the air between them - sweet and a little musky.

"Do you think it's a good party?" Simon asks. "Do you think that people are having fun?"

There's a low thrum of music in the background, laughter and conversation rising above it, not one person around them without a smile. Jace has only been here for a few minutes, but he hasn't seen anyone who looked like they'd rather be anywhere else.

"I think you're stressing over this, too much." Jace admits, not unkindly. "Look around you - everyone's smiling and talking, and certainly seem to be having fun." He softens, at the hopeful glance in Simon's eyes. "I know I am."

Simon's hopefulness becomes overwhelming. "Really?" He asks, a smile stretched over the words. "Good." He nods. "That's - good."

 _Good._ Jace thinks. A thought, a feeling. The smile on Simon's face. _Good._

_  
_

_\--_

_  
_

The party starts to dwindle down a few hours later, until it's just the majority of their rather close-knit group left. Jace is poking at a slice of cake, coffee-flavoured with mascarpone icing, with a plastic fork a little dejectedly. He's not really eating, just sort of playing with it. It's just him and Simon's roommate, Jordan, at the table, everyone else scattered around in smaller groups.

Jace has had a good time, he wasn't lying to Simon earlier, it's a good party. He's just, tired, in that bone-deep, restless kind of way, and he has no way of fighting it.

He glances around, and spots Simon, at the presents table, idly tracing his hand over the gifts. Jace startles when Simon plucks a present from out of the group, around the size of a shoe box, wrapped in brown parchment with a string tied around it and a folded cardboard card tucked between.

_No._

He stands up, sharply, out of his seat, mumbling something half-hearted to Jordan before walking off. He needs to get out, he needs to go, he can't be here when Simon opens his gift because Jace can't stand to see the reaction. It was supposed to be a surprise, to the both of them, not something he witnesses.

Simon gasps, soft and low, and Jace feels his back straighten rigidly. Simon turns, his gaze locking with Jace's immediately, jaw slack. Feeling beckoned by an unseen force, Jace steps forward on shaky feet. Simon has already seen him, there's no getting out of it now.

He stands there, hands fidgeting with the sleeves of his jacket. Simon glances back at the box, and then at Jace, eyes wide with surprise, and something, something else.

"This is from you," Simon inclines his head. "Isn't it?"

"Uh, yeah." Jace clears his throat."It is."

Simon blinks, staring at Jace as though he's seeing the blonde in a new, foreign light. "You - you really put a lot of thought into this..."

Jace worries at the inside of his cheek, but nods, deciding to leave out Clary's help. Simon is looking at him in, what can only be defined as _awe_ , which is not what Jace was expecting at all. Simon twists, placing the box back on the table, and then all of a sudden his arms are wrapped around Jace again, and everything is soft and warm and _good_.

"Thank you," Simon whispers against Jace's neck, his breath ghosting across Jace's ear. "I love them. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Jace replies, just as quietly, a low stirring in his gut calling to mind thoughts of _this feels right._

_  
_

_\--_

_  
_

Inside the tissue-paper lined shoebox, lies a Star Wars themed guitar strap, and matching picks with characters adorning them in a comic-art style.

  


* * *

  


"When are you going to tell Simon that you're in love with him?"

Jace stares at Alec incredulously.

They're at the cafe where Simon works, because his band has a gig and Simon had extended invitations to them all, which led to Clary and Isabelle collectively roping everyone into attending. Jace had grumbled, more for show than anything else, and found himself tucked away at the front with the rest of the group, on an angle diagonal to Simon - purely by coincidence, of course, because Alec and Magnus are squashed together on his left, and Clary and Isabelle are curled up on his right, leaving him the awkward fifth wheel in the middle.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Jace hisses. "I'm not in love with Simon."

Magnus leans forward, glancing across Alec to Jace. "You and Sherman?" His eyes soften, a sympathetic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "We're not blind, Jace."

Alec squeezes Jace's shoulder, but the touch is dull behind the screeching alarm bells ringing off in his mind. _ABORT ABORT ABORT._

"I'm not." Jace shakes his head. He doesn't even believe _himself_ , how pathetic.

He's not, though, he's not - he's not _in love_ with Simon, he might feel ... something, for him, but it's not love.

It's not.

"Jace, we're not - judging you, or anything." Alec promises. "Really. I mean, he's far from being my type, but if you have feelings for him-"

"I don't." Jace snaps, cutting him off. He can practically feel his blood boiling inside his veins. He can't do this, the air is too hot, stifling, sucking the oxygen from his lungs, and he needs to get away, get out of the pressure cooker he's suffocating in. He stands up, chair scraping, and makes his way towards the closest exit with a quickly muttered "excuse me".

Alec doesn't know what he's talking about. Jace isn't in love with Simon. Simon's dorky and loud and he always talks too much about things no one understands and he's stealing customers from Jace's van and he's stupidly cute and-

_No._

_  
_

_\--_

  


Simon ends up finding him after the gig, leaning against the brick wall of the outside smoking area. Not that Jace smokes, he just needed somewhere quiet and out of the way, where he can be alone with his thoughts and nothing, or no one, else.

He hadn't intended to stay out here as long as he had, though, he didn't want to miss Simon's entire set, he just wanted to - well, he wanted to get away from the knowing glint in Alec's eyes and the heavy weight of his hand on Jace's shoulder.

"Hey, Jace," Simon's smiling, as he always does, but there's something almost melancholy about it, something that tugs painfully at Jace's heartstrings. "You disappeared, I wasn't sure where you'd gone. Is everything okay?"

The worst part is that Simon genuinely sounds concerned.

"I'm fine," He forces a smile, a blinding, slightly arrogant one, to chase away any doubt. To chase away his own doubt. "Sorry I missed the rest of your set, though."

Simon shrugs. "Oh, don't worry about it, it's cool. There will be more." He squints, just slightly, mouth parting with a hesitant exhale. "Are you sure you're okay?" He reaches out, cautiously, wrapping a hand around Jace's arm.

The touch burns.

"I'm sure." Jace chokes out. The earnest, kind look in Simon's eyes is overwhelming, he feels like he's drowning, the ground beneath him about to crumble away to reveal nothing and send him tumbling down.

"Do you need any help?" He asks, once he feels that his voice is strong enough to actually form comprehensible words, not just spluttering sounds. "With, with packing up and stuff?"

Simon blinks. His hand is still on Jace's arm, and Jace's world is starting to get fuzzy around the edges. "That would be great, thanks."

Jace plasters on a grin, and nods. "No problem."

Because he won't let it be.

  


* * *

  


Jace manages to convince himself that his feelings for Simon are nothing, that it's a brief, passing infatuation, a crush, nothing more. He locks it down and treats Simon as he always had, though maybe with a sliver of kindness he'd been without before, and carries on like nothing is wrong.

And it works, for the most part. For a month.

  


\--

  


Jace is in the library, looking for _'Maximilien Robespierre: On the Principles of Political Morality'_ , for his paper on the aforementioned leader of France's Reign of Terror in the early 1790s, in order to get a better understanding of the man who was at the forefront of the French Revolution.

It's late, really late, and the library is only open for another twenty minutes - Jace had sweet-talked the librarian into letting him in, under the provision that he'd be in and out in the allotted time.

He's scouring the European History section, fingers trailing along the spines of the books gently, when he hears what can only be light snoring. It's an umistakeable sound, and more than that - it's familiar.

Simon has a penchant for falling asleep in the awkwardest of places. Jace had once found him asleep on the steps of the coffee van, because he'd been waiting for Jace to finish up and apparently couldn't wait. It was - it was rather sweet.

Much like the picture before him. Simon is slumped against a round table, jaw slack on his textbook, hair mussed wayward and haphazard. Jace swallows thickly, hands clenching and unclenching into fists by his side. He should wake Simon up, he knows that, the library is closing soon, and Simon would surely be more comfortable sleeping in a bed and not on a curved table, but he - _can't_.

Simon looks so soft and peaceful, and disturbing that feels like a crime. He wants to wrap Simon up with a blanket and keep him warm and protected and-

 _"You're in love with him,"_ A voice echoes in his mind, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Alec, a voice that he can't, for the life of him, argue with.

Because he is. He's been denying it, passing it off as something less, something insignificant, but the truth is, he is in love with Simon Lewis and trying not to be is only making his feelings resonant within him louder, stronger and entirely undeniable.

His revelation doesn't calm him down, in any way, but it's late and Simon needs to be woken up, so that takes top priority, over the shake of his nerves as his true feelings settle in.

"Simon," He keeps his voice low, quiet, his hand splayed on Simon's shoulder, nudging him slightly. "Hey, Simon? Wake up, buddy."

Simon stirs, but his eyes remain closed. Jace shakes his shoulder, remaining as gentle as possible, murmuring Simon's name over and over in a low thrum until he jerks and opens his eyes wide, flinging back in the chair with his hands spread before him.

He softens when he sees that it's just Jace and not, presumably, a crazy axe-murderer or something - Simon has a very weird and very vivid imagination, nothing would surprise Jace by this point.

"Jace?" A pleasant smile spreads slowly, pink lips parting softly. "What are you, what are you doing here?"

Jace shakes his head fondly. "Waking your dumb ass up. You planning on moving into the library, or is this a temporary thing?"

Simon blinks, a little dazed. "I didn't - I wasn't supposed to fall asleep."

Jace stares, deadpan and a little affectionate, despite his best attempts to not be. "Really? I was under the impression you'd planned it." He rubs Simon's back, not entirely aware that he's even doing it. "Come on, let's get you back to your dorm."

"M'kay." Simon shuffles, stretching his back, his arms pulled tight above his head. Jace hesitates, and then starts packing up Simon's books, presuming in his tired state he won't think about them.

"You don't have to do that," Simon mumbles, rubbing at his eyes with his fists.

"It's okay," Jace smiles, humbly. "Someone needs to carry them, and you need to concentrate on walking without bumping into things."

Simon scowls, not that there's _any_ heat to it, and shoves his seat in. "I'm not drunk," He snipes. "Just, half-asleep."

"At the moment, I see no difference." Jace admits, with an exasperated roll of his eyes. "Come on."

He leads the way, helping Simon weave through partitions and book-stands, towards the front where the librarian, a middle-aged woman with silver streaked hair and purple rimmed glasses, offers him a kind smile and holds open the door. He nods his gratitude, and nudges Simon through, before the kid can fall asleep on his feet, or worse, trip over them.

Thankfully, they only have to make it down the hall, through the adjoined pathway and into the elevator close to the exit of the next building, a route naturally extended with a fatigue-addled accounting student dragging his feet along.

"Why are you so tired, anyway?" Jace asks, pressing his hand against Simon's back to make sure he doesn't topple backwards or anything.

Simon gestures casually with his hand. "You know Jordan, my roommate? He got accepted into this internship thing, anyway he's leaving because it's out-of-state and so we were having a sort of bon-voyage party for him last night, and there was a lot of ... well, a lot happened and I woke up late and a little hungover-" Simon scrubs a hand over his face, fingers scratching at his jaw. "But I had studying to do, and I didn't want to leave it until tomorrow, and - well, you saw me at the library. It came at a dear cost."

"Just you, then." Jace digs his fingertips into the soft flesh of his palm. "In your dorm?"

"Yeah," Simon glances at him side-ways. "It's going to be weird, I mean, Jordan and I have been roommates since our first day of college. I'm going to miss him."

"Well, sure." Jace coughs, clearing his throat.

He doesn't mention that he'll soon be without a roommate himself. That Magnus had asked Alec to move in with him, that the two of them are considering getting their own apartment next year, that Alec is waiting on Jace for his opinion before he gives Magnus a definite answer. That a part of Jace wants to ask Simon to be his roommate, because if he can't do anything about his feelings, he can at least spend more time with him, in as close a manner as friends are permitted.

That there's something heavy in the air he can't define, and doesn't really want to.

It's not the time, not the place, not appropriate. Simon is half-awake and practically dead on his feet, Jace shouldn't be, shouldn't be taking advantage of that. In any way.

They keep quiet, until Simon makes an affirmative, high-pitched noise and points to a door a few steps away. "That's my dorm," He states, as though he's surprised to ... run into it.

"Yes," Jace laughs, amusedly. "Yes, it is. Do you have the key?"

Simon frowns, his forehead creasing adorably, before reaching into his back pocket and exclaiming a soft 'aha', as he brandishes the object he'd ben looking for. "Here!"

"Wonderful," Jace says, drily. "Want to put it in the lock, now, or shall I?"

Simon straightens, squaring his shoulders. "I can handle it." He states, like it's a difficult quest and not turning a small metal key into the space it was made for. "I'm strong."

Jace's gaze lingers on the curve of Simon's shoulders, muscles hidden beneath a loose zip-up hoodie, and swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. Thankfully, Simon doesn't notice, a grace from a universe that is, otherwise, giving him a rather hard time of late.

Simon opens the door, and sweeps in, leaving the key in the lock and heading straight for the bed, where he flops down face-first. A low moan escapes his lips, muffled by the comforter, and Jace stills, hand on the doorframe.

He takes a moment to steel himself, hand curled tight until the wood digs into the tips of his fingers. Splinters would hurt less than the crack of his heart, as he gazes over at Simon, so close to passing out, and fights the urge to reach out and just, just touch, his hair, his back, the woven bracelet on his wrist, the slip of pale skin above the waist of his jeans. Him, any part of him.

Jace is so irrevocably in love he disgusts himself.

"Jace?" Simon lifts his head up, enough to be heard. "Can I ask you something?"

Jace pulls out the key, flicks on the closest light switch and shuts the door behind him. "Sure." He mumbles, crossing to the desk to place Simon's stuff down.

Simon pats the space beside him on the bed, still not looking up, or making any attempt to move. "Sit." He mumbles.

Jace, with a little hesitation, does. The mattress is surprisingly soft, and he sinks into it, his hand brushing accidentally against Simon's, before he retracts it sharply. His skin burns, and once again, his mouth is dry when he swallows.

"What's up?"

Simon hums. "I was just, wondering - you're always so, you know, hot and cold with me..." He tilts his head, so that he's looking at Jace. His eyes are wide and earnest and there's nothing soft about the sharp gaze. He's serious. "Do you even like me?"

Jace worries nervously at his bottom lip. _Yes_ , he wants to say, _yes I like you, Simon, more than that, I love you, so much it hurts to be in your presence, so much that I can't stand the idea of you knowing in case you don't feel the same way. So much that it aches._

He says none of that. Instead, he just stares, eyes locked with Simon's. "Of - of course," He stutters out, fingers digging into the mattress. "What would make you think I don't?"

Simon shrugs, his gaze faltering. "Some days, I think you do. But then you go all, reserved and stoic and I can't read you. And I think that, maybe you don't like me. Maybe you just ... put up with me."

He sounds subdued and so unlike _Simon_ it chips at the edges of Jace's already mangled heart. "I do like you, Simon." He whispers, voice hoarse. "A lot."

Simon blinks, and stretches, until his hand is resting atop Jace's. Their fingers slot together like puzzle pieces, and Jace finds himself inhaling sharply at a contact he never thought he'd get.

"I like you, too." Simon admits, quietly. His thumb brushes across the back of Jace's hand, slow and soothing. "Kind of a surprise, hey?" He laughs, just as quietly - something in the mood demands it. "You, liking me, and such. Me, liking you."

Jace nods. He can see Simon's point - but he's also busy working on _I like you too._ Simon likes him. _Simon,_ actually likes him. Back. At least, partially the way Jace likes him. It's almost too good to be believable.

"I mean-" Simon continues, oblivious to Jace's inner torment. "I'm, well, me - and you're just this gorgeous blonde hunk with a leather jacket and that bad boy smile." He blinks at Jace, hand tightening around his. "It's very distracting. What's a poor pansexual boy to do?"

Jace bites down on his bottom lip, to stop the world's brightest smile from spreading. His cheeks hurt with the suppresion, but he doesn't want to ruin the moment. It's such a nice moment.

"You're pretty cute, yourself." He whispers. It's the first time he's allowed himself to speak the words aloud, and by the awe curving Simon's smile, it's entirely worth it. "Your nerdiness is actually very endearing."

"You always look pissed when I geek-out, though." Simon points out, rolling over so he's laying on his side, facing Jace.

"I couldn't make it obvious," Jace explains, glancing at their joined hands, then back at Simon. "That I liked you. That I thought you were adorable. What if you didn't feel the same?"

Simon scoffs out a laugh. "I'd have to be pretty dumb, or pretty straight, to not feel the same." He leans up on his elbow, head tilted upwards. "Fortunately, I am neither of those things."

"No, you're not."

It happens, slowly and silently, as though they're both drawn together by an invisible cord, tied from one heart to another. Jace bends down, Simon leans up, and although the angle is a little awkward, the discomfort ceases to matter when their lips meet. To Jace, it feels like the quenching of a thirst, as soon as Simon's lips touch his, he's a man in a desert who's stumbled upon a glistening oasis.

It's perfect.

He gasps, unintentionally, and then Simon's tongue swipes along the seam of his mouth and Jace is crashing, falling through the atmosphere at a hurtling speed. He reaches out, cupping Simon's jaw, his thumb pressed to Simon's cheek, a present and firm anchor.

"Hang on," Simon mumbles against his mouth. "Just, hang on."

Jace does, pulling back, and despite how reluctant they both are, he manages to keep a substantial distance between them. Simon scurries, pulling himself up so that his legs are crossed, in a similiar position to Jace.

"Better?" Jace asks.

"Not yet," Simon mumbles, gaze flickering down to Jace's mouth, and then back up again.

Jace returns to his previous position, hand gracing Simon's jaw, his other hand tangled with Simon's. "How is this?"

Simon purses his lips, free hand reaching out to grasp the collar of Jace's jacket. "Close," He whispers, and then he's leaning forward, and Jace feels his heart pick up speed in his chest.

It's never felt like this. He's had crushes before, thought he was in love before, been hopelessly infatuated - but nothing has ever felt like this. Kissing has never felt as good, as hopeful and healing.

There's a hole in his chest being slowly filled, a hole whose depth he'd been unaware of before now. A space that echoed with loneliness, now singing with love - it may be too early to tell Simon, but they've come this far, they've made it to this point, where Jace can hold Simon's hand and envelope Simon's lips with his own and press fleeting kisses against the sweep of Simon's jaw.

Simon _likes_ him, actually likes him, actually _wants_ him. It's not everything, but it's something, and it's more than he had an hour ago. He just wants to revel in the moment, in the press of his chest against Simon's as he lays Simon down on his bed, the exploration of hands beneath jackets and shirts, and warm lips pressing soft kisses to every inch of his face.

Anything more can be saved for daylight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (magnus and alec were watching arrival btw it's fab - and it's my h/c that Jace is a massive secret history nerd :D )
> 
> based off [this prompt](http://papalogia.tumblr.com/post/161224889381/uni-prompts-because-why-not) (11) and [this prompt](http://alligotleftismybones.tumblr.com/post/120101670323/library-aus) (9)


	3. drawing hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise encounter leads to revolutionary change.
> 
> Or Alec is a knight-without-armour, Magnus is enamoured, and their love literally changes lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is the summary over the top? perhaps. does it reflect the overwhelmingly sappy fluff piece this is?? absolutely. 
> 
> Happy (last day of) Pride Month!! Don't let the change in days stop you from being proud of yourself and others around you. Everyone is awesome, regardless of gender or sexuality, and that includes you! ❤
> 
> \--
> 
> title from 'Drella' by Pierce the Veil

 

Magnus has always liked fashion.

It's something he's admired from afar for years, and when he reached an appropriate age, something he participated passionately in. At sixteen he'd sneak into his grandmother's embroidery room and use her sewing machine to alter his clothes, until they fit the image in his head. When he was eighteen, having saved up enough money, he bought his own state-of-the-art machine and for the next year, all he wore were clothes of his own creation.

Nowadays he buys as much things as he makes, but he takes an upmost pride in how he dresses and how he looks and it's something that brings him great delight. When he was choosing a major for college, it didn't feel that hard to double up on fashion and business, something he loved and something practical, respectively.

He's still undecided as to whether he wants his own fashion line, or whether he wants to run a store, or even a magazine empire - so long as he works with his hands and has creative control of his career, and it's related of course to style, he doesn't care.

There are moments, dark days, where he second guesses his entire career path because it all just becomes _too much._

One of those such days leads to something unexpected, as such things tend to do - the light at the end of a tunnel, and whatnot.

 

* * *

 

It's around midnight - Magnus having discarded his phone a while ago beneath the spread of designs and essays and miscellaneous papers scattered before him, isn't really sure - when he decides that a future destined to glittering stages in lush bars might be more lucrative and less stressful than the one he's currently facing.

At the time, doubling up on a major seemed like the smartest idea, twice the degree in half the amount of time. Quick and efficient, the way Magnus likes to get most, though certainly not all, things done. And at the start it was great, because it kept him busy and if there is one thing Magnus hates, it's being bored and unproductive. But then the work started piling up on him from all ends, and the last straw - the infamous one that broke the camel's back - came when he scored a job at a local trendy retail store, and suddenly found himself without time to eat or sleep or even _breathe_.

Now he's curled on a couch in the sophmore student lounge with his sketchpad balanced on one knee and tablet on the other, fatigue pulling at his muscles like strings on a puppet and a sting in his eyes that refuses to leave no matter how many times he rubs them.

And he's all alone. None of his friends are free enough to help, or even offer moral support - Catarina has her nursing placement and Ragnor has more books to pour over than Magnus, and Raphael ... well, Raphael didn't seem to care, but that's not all that unusual. He has a wide and eclectic range of friends, and he loves them all, but he's not in the mood for loving anything right now.

He's exhausted, bone-deep and almost to the point of hysterics, and he can't go back to his dorm, the way he wants to, because he has an assignment due in two days and evening is pretty much the only time he has to spare for studying.

If he can just finish of the details of this design, and the remaining few paragraphs for his paper, he can feesably leave the rest until morning. He's always been a firm believer in completing smaller tasks to accumulate a larger one, and that's exactly what he's been trying to do, but for the past hour it's felt less like accomplishing work and more like eternally running through a revolving door.

If he was someone else, he'd probably have given up, by now. But he is Magnus Bane, and Magnus Bane is not a quitter. Most days.

He's concentrating on the outline of a flared coat, sturdy and dark with silver buttons decorating the back, when he hears the distinct sound of someone clearing their throat. He freezes, and glances up sharply.

A human Adonis stands before him, rugged beauty wrapped up in a charcoal sweater and scuffed black jeans. His arms are folded across his chest, providing Magnus' imagination with very vivid thoughts of the muscles hidden beneath such a, quite frankly atrocious garment. There's an amused glint to the man's hazel eyes, and although he isn't smiling, Magnus gets the feelings he's holding back from doing so.

"Yes?" Magnus' voice is not as strong as he'd like. "Can I help you?"

The man raises an eyebrow, pursing his mouth slightly. "I don't think I'm the one that needs help."

Magnus sweeps a wayward hand. "I have everything under control, in case you hadn't noticed."

The man blinks, and then spins on his heel, walking towards the exit. Magnus sighs, but figures the view he's presented as the man walks away is almost worth the rush of humilation flooding his cheeks.

So he embarrassed himself in front of a _very cute_ guy. It's not the first time, and besides, they don't know each other, it's not like Magnus has lost something. He touches a hand to his warm cheeks, surprised to find his fingers coming away wet. He's not sure when he started crying, though odds are it was when Tall, Dark and Handsome was in the room, because the universe has been having a field day with him as of late.

It's just stress. Nothing he can't handle.

Magnus returns to his design, returns to the sketches and tries not to think of the dark eyes that had shined with mirth and something tantalising, the sweeping curve of muscles and legs and - by God that man is gorgeous, and Magnus has just cried in front of him. He couldn't have made a better first impression if he tried.

Ragnor will hold this against him for an eternity, Magnus thinks despondently, shading in the collar of the coat. A nagging voice in the back of his mind points out that he doesn't have to tell Ragnor anything, which is fair, but Magnus' ego can be vocal and rather desperate for attention, and he knows he won't be able to keep it inside for very long without blurting it out, all with the intention of sympathy he knows he'll never receive.

"Mind some company?"

Magnus glances up, more than a little startled to see the Adonis from before, standing closer, with coffee and a small bag of what appear to be snacks in hand. He narrows his eyes slightly, glancing between the man's eyes and the possessions in his arms - it's an entirely unexpected turn of events, and he's not sure how to deal with it.

"No," He inclines his head slightly. "Company ... would be great."

The man smiles, soft and hesitant, and it's a little blindsiding. "Good. I'm Alec, by the way."

Magnus offers a gentle smile in return. "Magnus. Please, sit." He clears up some of his stuff, leaving space on the lounge beside him for Alec to sit, his intentions only slightly debauched. Alec puts the bag on the floor, handing Magnus a coffee cup, before curling up on the space Magnus had cleared.

"It's not the best," He states, nodding towards the coffee. "But I figured it's enough to give you a bit of a kick, which you probably need because, well-" Alec's smile turns nervous, and it's awfully endearing. "You're here, at this time of night."

Magnus nods solemnly. "I have a double major," He explains. "Business and Fashion, which I'm quickly regretting." He takes a sip of the coffee, and tries not to wince. It's both bitter and watery, with distinctly stale undertones.

Still, as Alec had pointed out, it gives a kick, and anything that stops Magnus from fallling asleep is worth a little. Alec's gentle presence is a fair plus, too.

"Workload piling on top of you?" Alec sounds like he's speaking from experience.

Magnus nods, gesturing towards the sketchpad balanced on his lap. "I'd quit if I didn't love it so much. And if I wasn't, in the words of my dear friends, so frustratingly stubborn."

Alec laughs, the sound low and rumbling. He tucks his legs up beside him, almost as though he's trying to fold himself into the couch. "I understand that. I'm, uh, I'm studying human rights and ethics in law, and a lot of the time it makes me want to tear my hair out."

Magnus' eyes widen, he's sure, almost theatrically. Here he is, complaining about a _fashion major_ when Alec is studying ethics and law? And even still, he's compassionately listening to Magnus' tale of woe with a kind smile and attentive ear, going out to get him coffee and food, sitting beside him so he's not alone.

"Human rights-" Magnus exhales deeply, hands clenching over his knee. "You must think me a snobbish fool, Alec, for whining as I have, when your studies are likely harder than mine."

Alec's gaze flickers, and then he's reaching out, laying his hand atop Magnus' on his knee. He carefully loosens Magnus' fist, and tangles their fingers together. His cheeks are pink and flushed when he glances back at Magnus, but there's a steel, determined resolve that Magnus finds utterly charming.

"I don't think you're a fool," Alec admits quietly. "Everyone is entitled to their own feelings, and if your work is stressing you out, you're allowed to express it. I don't think that my studies are harder or more important than yours, they're in completely different fields and concerned with completely different matters."

There's something personal about Alec's words, but Magnus doesn't point it out. It wouldn't, for one, be very polite. And two, he imagines it would bring the mood down, and it's turning into quite a nice evening.

"You're very considerate, Alec." Magnus turns his hand, so that his palm is resting flush against Alec's. "Thank you."

 

\--

 

Alec doesn't leave until Magnus does. Though he has no work of his own with him, he sits and talks and asks questions, and by the time they walk out, hands brushing together, Magnus feels lighter and more optimistic than he had the entire evening.

It helps that he has Alec's number in his phone and the lingering press of Alec's lips to his cheek.

 

* * *

 

Magnus likes to think that he has some semblance of self-control. He's a mature, sophisticated person who's spent years cultivating a reputation for himself and a lot of that depends on how he acts.

Which is why he manages to wait until the next day to call Alec. Well, next morning. A few minutes before his first lecture.

The levels of his restraint are truly exponential.

Alec picks up after the second ring, which does more to Magnus' fluttering heart than it should. Alec's voice is deep and, in Magnus' partially biased opinion, very dreamy.

_"Hello?"_

"Alexander," Magnus adjusts the strap of his satchel. "I hope I haven't woken you."

There's a distant rustling in the background. _"No,"_ Alec replies. _"You haven't. What's up?"_

Magnus smiles to himself and locks the door of his dorm. "Well, I was just reminiscing about our wonderful time last night, and wondering when we'd be able to do it again. Would you be inclined to join me for dinner soon?"

_"I'm free tonight,"_ Alec admits, the hope in his voice reassuring. _"If you want to get together then?"_

It's universally too early for Magnus to be so giddy. "There's a delightful Mediterranean restaurant with amazing food and student discounts a few blocks away, if you're interested?"

_"I'm very interested,"_ Alec admits, the words coming out quickly. _"Does seven suit you?"_

"Seven suits me magnificently." Magnus doesn't hide the slight purr to his words. Alec has just agreed to go on a date with him, he's esctatic. "I'll see you then, Alexander."

_"Have a good day, Magnus."_

It hasn't even been twenty-four hours, and yet here Magnus is, spiralling down a rabbit hole of infatuation. Seven cannot come fast enough.

 

* * *

 

They text intermittently throughout the day, and agree to meet outside of Efendi Mediterranean Cuisine, because Alec has a lecture that ends an hour before their agreed meeting time, and - not that he mentions it - Magnus needs the time to get ready after his own planned study group session.

He pairs tight black pants with grey suspenders that hang from his hips, and a royal purple v-neck beneath a a charcoal blazer. From his neck hang a deliberate collection of necklaces, layered in size to accentuate the slip of bronze collarbone revealed by the low-cut top. His hands are adorned with his usual rings, his nails a deep purple to match his top, his eyeshadow dark but not overbearing, a glisten of gloss on his lip and a dusting of glitter along his sharp cheekbones.

He is, by clear definition of the phrase, dressed to impress.

His purple ankle boots make deep pounding sounds along the ground as he walks, strutting confidently down the street to the restaurant where he's meeting Alec. Or rather, to the restaurant where Alec is already waiting, despite it being ten minutes before they are due to meet.

He looks fantastic. Denim button-up hugging his firm arms, black jeans that accentuate his elongated height, and a slimming black jacket that Magnus startingly finds himself wanting to be wrapped in.

Magnus shakes his head, getting his thoughts in order, as much he can, before he reaches Alec. It's only their first date, after all, no need to get ahead of himself and scare Alec away before there's even a chance for anything to happen between them.

Because by God, does Magnus want something to happen between them.

"Alexander," He watches, foolishly giddy, as Alec spots him and just _grins,_ a natural and automatic response. "You look..." Magnus allows his eyes to trail lazily down and then back up the length of Alec's body. "Amazing."

Alec's cheeks brighten, but he returns a curt, sweeping gaze of his own. "You too, you look - really, really good." He coughs, to clear his throat, and Magnus takes the split-second to better compose himself.

"Shall we enter?" He asks, with a sweep of his arm. Alec nods, and follows Magnus' lead inside.

It's a Thursday night, so the restaurant, a family-run establishment, isn't all that busy. They're lead towards a table near a window with a gorgeous view of the bustling street outside, the small park across the road with beautiful trees and the angled view of the dusk sky. The good spot is probably helped by the fact that Magnus is on friendly terms with the owner's daughter, Gina, and a regular at the venue.

Magnus manages to hold back a gasp of surprise when Alec pulls out the closest chair, and gestures towards it with a humble smile. Magnus waits, for the shoe to drop, but it doesn't. Alec just patiently waits, smiling, ever the chivalrous gentleman.

"Thank you," Magnus sinks into the chair with as much grace as he can summon. It's hard with the exaggerated fluttering of his heart.

Alec settles into the opposite seat, eyes wide as he gazes around the room in wonder. The warm atmosphere is part of what drew Magnus towards the restaurant in the first place, the subtle lighting and low instrumental music piecing together an ambience that works well with the amazing food.

Magnus hands Alec a menu, smiling charmingly. "The food here is to die for."

Alec nods, gaze flicking from Magnus down to the menu in front of him. "I'll trust your word."

They peruse their respective menus for a while. Magnus, knowing it well, sneaks fleeting glances at Alec, the light drawing sharp shadows along the curve of his cheeks, the cut of his sturdy jaw.

Soon after, a dark-haired girl with olive skin and brown doe eyes sidles up to their table, a knowing smirk aimed purely at Magnus. "Evening, gentlemen. My name is Gina, I'll be your waitress." She greets, hands clasped together in front of her. "Are you ready to order, yet?"

Her eyes are glittering with mirth, turned to Magnus expectantly. It's not hard to presume that he's on a date, but the fact they'd had a _thing_ for all of a fortnight in his freshman year is not something that he's forgotten. They're on friendly terms, the break up a mutual decision - not that it was even a real relationship - but she has no qualms about teasing him, and Magnus isn't sure he's quite ready for that, not in front of Alec, not so soon.

He is a man of pride and Gina has been witness to some of his less than admirable moments.

Magnus tries to silently ask her not to embarrass him, hoping she gets the hint. She is, after all, quite a nice person, when she isn't encouraging him to do another round of Ouzo shots.

Alec clears his throat, a little nervously. He's marginally apologetic when he glances at Magnus, menu held up before him. "You seem to know ... about this, more than I do." He swallows, and Magnus forces himself not to glance at his bobbing Adam's apple. "You can order what you think is, best, if you'd like?"

Magnus blinks, a little taken aback, that Alec would trust him enough to choose the food for them. "Any particular preferences?" He asks - he doesn't want to order anything Alec might not like, or heaven forbid, be allergic too.

Thankfully, Alec seems to catch on. "I'm good with spices, I'm not allergic to anything, and I'm, hesitantly, up for trying anything."

Magnus glances at Gina, knows with that one look that she's catching on to the innuendos his gutter-mind is conjuring up. They've always had that in common.

"If you're sure," Magnus waits for Alec to nod, before relaying an order to Gina with some of his regular favourites. She smiles kindly, and then darts off with their order.

A platter of deep-fried vegetables and pita bread for appetizers, and plates of keftedes - meatballs cooked with herbs and onions; yemista - tomatoes and peppers stuffed with rice; and dolmades - tuffed grape leaves, to share.

Because sharing is caring - not because Magnus has any ulterior motives relating to Alec's long, dextrous fingers brushing against his.

He's not that affected, he's totally got it under control, he's not startled at the press of Alec's foot against his, or the 100-watt smile turned his way.

He's fine.

 

* * *

 

Magnus isn't fine.

They'd chatted through dinner, Alec mostly about his siblings and a little about his course, and Magnus about anything and everything under the sun, because there's something enticing about Alec, that encourages him to talk more than he normally would.

Usually he'd ask questions about the person he's on a date with, to get to know them better, draw them out, but Alec is very particular and delicate about what he asks, about the topic at hand, and Magnus finds himself digging deeper than he's generally inclined to.

It's technically their first date, after all. Magnus shouldn't be talking about how makeup has always made him feel comfortable in his own skin, about how he's come to depend on friends more than family, as most of them aren't around anymore.

But it's hard, when Alec is sitting opposite him, calm and attentive, with a patient smile that sends Magnus' heart toppling and an authenticity unfortunately lacking from a lot of people these days.

Magnus finds himself wanting to tell Alec everything. He doesn't, but he wants to.

 

\--

 

"That girl, back there. The waitress." Alec glances at Magnus side-ways, his lips curled in a curious smile. "Did you know her?"

They're walking along the street, back towards the campus, hands brushing intermittently between them. The air is warm, though no more than the flicker inside of Magnus, and though it's by no means quiet or desolate, there is something private hovering around them, like they truly are the only people in each other's peripheral.

"We're, friends." Magnus admits, glancing upwards, towards the blinking lights of the cityscape. It's a beautiful night.

"Friends..." Alec hums, twitching his hand just slightly, so that his long fingers press firmly to Magnus', not quite intertwined, not yet, but thinking of it. "Just friends, then?"

There's no judgement in his tone, only idle curiosity. Magnus takes charge, slipping his fingers into the gaps of Alec's hand, until their palms are pressed together. "We had a thing, once. Nothing serious. I think we're a bit too alike, her and I, to work as anything more."

He turns to Alec, slowing his steps so they have more time to savour the moment. "I promise, Alexander, we are just friends." He strokes the soft flesh of Alec's inner wrist lightly with his thumb. "I am, as it turns out, very much taken with another."

Something light and almost effervescent sparks in Alec's eyes. "Really?"

Magnus nods, his whole body rotating, until he's pressed up in Alec's space, heads a fleeting inch away. People, loud and fast, move around them, but Magnus has no mind for anyone else. He lifts his free hand, cupping Alec's cheek gently, finger tips brushing against his jaw. It's cleanshaven, fresh, and as soft to the touch as Alec's lips, when Magnus presses his own to them.

Alec tastes like wine and spice, and he moves with an eagerness that quite literally takes Magnus' breath away. One moment, they're standing on the street, slow and tentative, the next Alec has Magnus crowded against a brick wall, mouth never straying too far.

It's caressing, approaching heated with the teasing slip of tongue, and altogether dizzying.

Magnus pulls back, eventually, short of breath and seeing stars every time he blinks. Alec smiles at him, gently, hand twisting to stroke his thumb along the curve of Magnus' cheekbones, the touch careful and delicate, like Magnus is made of glass and deserves to be treated as such.

It's only their first date.

"I've had a really great time," Alec admits, his other hand fiddling almost absently with the hem of Magnus' blazer. "The food was amazing."

"And the company?" Magnus enquires, his voice drifting in the quiet space they've created between them. He toys with Alec's shirt, one hand slipping beneath, brushing along the waist of Alec's jeans teasingly.

"Not bad," Alec dips his head, the distance between them still agonisingly apparent. "A few perks."

"I'm sure," Magnus slides his other hand up Alec's chest, thumb pressed to the dip of his collarbone, and closes the distance himself, because the time for talking has been and passed and he has other ideas on his mind.

Alec responds enthusiastically, hand tightening against Magnus' cheek, one foot slipping forward to rest between Magnus' legs. Magnus feels crowded from all sides in the best way, surrounded by Alec at every corner and if this is what he's graced with he never wants to be free of it, free of Alec.

It may only be their first date, but it certainly doesn't feel like it.

 

* * *

 

Alec plans their next date, and much like the man himself, it's full of surprises.

Magnus is just finishing with his hair, arranging the strands so they curl over, dipped gold and shimmering, the sides newly shaved, when a sturdy knock sounds at the door.

He appraises his look in the mirror, tight burgundy pants, black boots with a studded wraparound belt at the top and chunky heels, a silky midnight blue top with gold stitching and a short onyx blazer rolled to his sleeves. His makeup is dark but subtle, a sweep of chestnut eyeshadow, dusting of glittering highlight on his cheeks, lipstick an enticing and muted rose-brown.

Pleased with his look, Magnus opens the door to his one-bedroom dorm, a smile already forming in anticipation.

Alec looks incredible. Not that Magnus had been expecting anything less, of course, but still - high-collared navy jacket, unbuttoned brown overshirt, olive top and black cargo pants tucked into laced combat boots. It's simple, understated, and perfectly gorgeous.

"Magnus, hey." Alec's looking at him, all soft eyes and upturned smiles. "You look, well, fantastic."

Magnus preens under Alec's heavy gaze. "I'm not the only one," He states. Alec straightens, unintentionally, his shoulders drooping as though a weight has been lifted.

"I just need to get some things," Magnus opens the door wider, giving Alec the silent invitation to enter if he wishes, but at the same time not forcing anything. "Will it be cold, where we're going?"

Alec hasn't told Magnus anything about their date. Just promised to pick him up at six, that all the details would be handled, no need to worry. Magnus had felt more charmed by that then he'd expected to.

"A little," Alec smiles conspiratorily. "A coat wouldn't go astray."

"I have the perfect one."

It's very Holmes-esque, dark with silver star-shaped buttons, flared out the bottom so it lifts when he walks. He adds a little twirl, purely for self-indulgent reasons, facing Alec with a prepared grin. Alec's smile is all his own, small and a little tight, like he's keeping the full extent from spreading premonitially.

It's as endearing as the man himself.

"Ready?" Alec asks.

Magnus nods, locking the door to the dorm behind him with a swift click. He slides his hand around Alec's arm, stifling a sharp gasp at the feel of the firm muscle beneath his palm. There's something enticing about the fact it can be accurately felt beneath layers, Magnus is sure he'd salivate at the sight of bare, rippling skin, laid out before him.

Magnus clears his throat. He's getting ahead of himself, not surprising, and not hard, where Alec is concerned, but if he doesn't reign it in now, he'll say or do something he'll regret - for cause of humiliation, not a lack of intention.

Alec is watching him, a light heat gracing his chiseled cheeks, as patient as always. Magnus tightens his hold, just slightly, and inclines his head.

"Lead the way."

 

* * *

 

The sky is painted in golden hues and dusty pinks, surprisingly visible between the emerald-leaved trees. Alec's hand is wrapped firmly around Magnus', tugging him with the slightest pressure towards the venue of their date. Magnus is perfectly happy to trail behind, gazing around in wonder at the pleasant sights of the New York evening, and of course the man he's seeing it all with.

"We're almost there," Alec glances back, still smiling. Magnus is sure it hasn't faltered the entire time.

"It's okay." Magnus hums. "I'm enjoying the walk."

It's a clear night, and not often that he gets out like this. He's procrastinating a rather voluptuous assignment, but he has the whole weekend to complete it, and a night with Alec is far more appealing than one with only a keyboard as company.

The park isn't empty, but it's not necessarily packed either. Couples stroll past, hand in hand like Alec and Magnus themselves, other people walking enthusiastic dogs, or just taking a casual walk on a calm night. No one takes a second glance their way, which isn't all that odd in a city as eclectic as New York, but years of unwanted, negative attention clings to Magnus like a phantom shadow, and he's always prepared for heated, judgemental looks. Whether for the colour of his skin or the clothes on his back or the person he's interested in, there was always something people had a problem with. He's learnt, over the years, to deal with it, to brush off the stares and ignore the sneers, but it takes an emotional toil and calcifies to become something solid and heavy that sits on his chest, immobile.

Moments like this, with people like Alec, who are warm and bright and generous, make the load lighter. Not gone, not invisible, but easier to handle.

Alec stops, suddenly, and Magnus finds himself, ever gracious, almost tripping. He manages to catch himself before anything embarrassing happens, but there's a fleeting moment where it's a possibility.

The first thing Magnus notes is the lanterns. There's two, each hooked on the end of their own curved pole, one on either side of a patterned tartan blanket. A picnic basket rests on the blanket, a bottle of wine poking out of the corner, settled at the bottom of a long and luscious tree.

A picnic in the park. Magnus is in awe.

"Alexander-" He cuts himself off, unable to continue, the words stuck in his throat. When's the last time a date did something this thoughtful for him? He can't recall a time, which likely means there wasn't one.

A man as kind and beautiful as Alec shouldn't be so full of surprises, it's unfair to Magnus' feeble heart.

"I have, a very enthusiastic sister," Alec explains, softly. "That was more than willing to help me set this up. I wanted to do something, different, but still kind of quiet? If that makes sense."

"It's perfect," Magnus whispers, because he's still caught up in it all. He squeezes Alec's hand, leaning forward to place a warm kiss to Alec's lips. Alec is practically glowing when Magnus steps back, the corners of his mouth stretched upwards like he can't contain the pressure of his own smile.

"We should-" Alec gestures loosely to the blanket. "We should, probably sit."

"Of course."

They fold themselves down onto the blanket, Alec with his legs crossed tighty, Magnus a little looser, legs sprawled before him, leaning back against the tree with space between for their hands to brush. Alec rustles into the basket, pulling out the wine and two glasses. Magnus holds the glasses while Alec pours the drink, and then they toast to their date, because anything more would be too heavy for the light atmosphere they're wrapped in.

Alec's clearly put a lot of thought into every part of the date. The wine, the food packed in individual containers, from sliced fruits and vegetables, to mini squares of zucchini slice and garlic foccacia bread, toasted quesadillas and, arguably best of all, banana bread.

"Did you do all of this?" Magnus asks, watching as Alec pulls out two plates, laying them beside the spread of food on the, quite large blanket. "Or did your sister help with that, too?"

He wouldn't mind, if that had been the case. It's impressive either way.

"Iz, cook? God, no." Alec laughs, softly. "Isabelle is banned from any kitchen, ever. She once almost burnt down the house when we were kids, set off the fire alarm and everything. We ended up with three firetrucks outside - it's a pretty big house. Ever since then, it's been a clear and outstanding ban. She likes to cook, but for the life of her, she can't."

Alec speaks so fondly of his sister that Magnus finds himself paradoxically burdened by a sweeping ache, and lifted up so high it's almost like he's floating.

"You did it all, by yourself, then?" Magnus enquires, attempting - and likely failing - to keep his voice even.

Alec nods, a sheepish blush colouring his cheeks. "I had a free class, and I wanted it to be - special."

"Special is an understatement," Magnus exhales. "If this is an attempt to seduce me, Alexander, I promise it's working."

Alec doesn't respond, and when Magnus glances over, it's not hard to see why. Alec is staring down at their hands, at the tips of their pinkies that are tangled together on the blanket, colour painting his porcelain skin.

"I'm glad you like it," Alec smiles, shy and hesitant, and Magnus feels a flutter of feelings like wings in the core of his stomach. "I didn't want our second date to, you know, fall short. Not when the first one went so smoothly."

"I promise, Alexander, nothing is falling short this time around." Magnus takes a slow sip of his wine, eyes on Alec the whole time. He needs a second, just a second, to compose himself before he says something ineloquent and ruins the date Alec has put so much effort into.

"I think," He proposes, sliding his fingers into the free spaces of Alec's hand. "This date might already be surpassing the first."

"Really?" Alec asks, smiling with bright eyes and a lopsided mouth.

"Absolutely."

 

* * *

 

Their third date comes only a few days later, with Magnus suggesting they catch the newest feature at the closest cinema. His intentions are whole-hearted, for the most part; he's not exactly proposing he and Alec catch a cheesy rom-com and kiss in the back like hormone-raged teenagers, but there's something cosy about snuggling up to someone in a dark room and joining sweet-tainted lips together under the shining film projection.

As Alec's dorm isn't all that far from Magnus', a short walk at most, he decides to surprise Alec by picking him up. Or, knocking on his door and announcing his presence with the intention of walking with Alec to the theatre as opposed to meeting there.

Magnus' group study meeting had been cut short after half of the group reported they couldn't come due to illness. There hadn't been any point continuing after that, so here Magnus is, dressed comfortably and to the nines, because he had the time and used it wisely.

Tight grey long-sleeve beneath a charcoal knit cardigan, black pants with tan leather lace up boots and a sturdy heel. His makeup is all golden honey-browns and fluttering black lashes, lips a shimmering bronze, and blonde tips still adorning his hair. Warm, but still casual. Nothing too over-the-top, at least, not in Magnus' eyes.

He reaches Alec's door and knocks quickly, curtly, heart fluttering with anticipation. It's only been a couple of days since Magnus had last seen Alec, and they'd spoken plenty in the between time, but it's not the same as experiencing the man first-hand.

Except, Alec doesn't open the door. Which is, admittedly, a little disappointing.

A well-built blonde with heterochromatic eyes and a rather cocky grin stands before him, arms folded loosely over his chest. He fills the gap between the door and the frame, leaving Magnus without any chance to peek his head around and search for Alec. He's got the right dorm, he knows that much, if only for the label on the door that says _Lightwood & Herondale._

"Hey," The blonde's mouth quirks up, arrogance radiating from him. "How can I help you?"

Magnus frowns, but elects to remain polite, because manners are important and if he wants any respect from this man, he'll probably have to extend it first. "I'm here to see Alec. Is he, not in?"

The blonde nods, a mischevious spark lighting his multi-coloured eyes. "He's in. What do you want him for?"

There's a muffled voice that sounds a lot like Alec, but it's too indistinct for Magnus to make anything out. He inhales deeply, centering himself, because anger has never been an attractive colour on him.

"We have a date," Magnus explains, his words a little clipped. "Unless he's changed his mind."

The blonde watches, scrutinises, then holds out his hand. "I'm Jace. Herondale. Alec's roommate, and best friend."

Magnus inclines his head slightly. An odd influx of information. He shakes the offered hand, his gaze on Jace's the entire time. "Magnus Bane. Prospective boyfriend material."

Jace's eyes crinkle just slightly at the corners, mouth tightening in a thin line. Then, just when Magnus is expecting he'll have to elbow his way into the room, Jace opens the door wider and steps back.

"It's nice to meet you, Magnus." He says, allowing Magnus to pass through.

Alec, to Magnus' entire lack of surprise, is the first thing his eyes fall to. He's standing near a desk, looking dressed and ready to go, for the most part. The dark-haired girl fiddling with the buttons of his long-sleeved navy Henley speaks of something different.

They both glance his way once he's stepped past the threshold, in a movement eerily synchronised. Alec's face lights up adorably, his mouth parting in a light gasp. "Magnus, hey."

Magnus waves with a twirl of his fingers. "Alexander."

The dark-haired girl glances between them with an amused smirk. She pats Alec's shoulder, fondly, then turns and offers Magnus the kind of 100-watt smile he's seen Alec sport many times before.

"I'm Isabelle, this dork's sister." She offers Magnus her hand, the tips painted a dark burgundy similiar to his own. "I'm the best Lightwood, by the way. In case you were under the unfortunate impression that Alec held that title."

Magnus raises her hand and brushes a soft kiss against the back of it. "Magnus. Alec has told me a lot about you, best Lightwood aside, of course. It's a pleasure to meet you, darling."

Isabelle's dark eyes glitter. "Oh, a charmer." She turns to Alec, letting her hand fall gracefully from Magnus'. "I like him. It's nice to see good taste wasn't limited to just me, _hermano_. Congratulations."

Alec attempts a glare, but it falls a little short, a little too fond. "Iz, could you - just, stop? For a minute?"

Isabelle smirks, and squeezes Alec's shoulder, head tilted to look up at him, their height difference rather sweet. "A minute is all you'll get, brother dear. Have fun on your date." She leans up on the toes of her, quite gorgeous heels, and presses a soft kiss to Alec's cheek. "We can talk later."

Alec rolls his eyes, exasperated, but seems to resign himself to the fact getting out of such a conversation appears difficult. "If I'm lucky, not even then." He pats the top of her head the way only an older brother can, and fixes a stern glare in Jace's direction.

"No commentary from the peanut gallery needed or wanted." He warns. "And if you wait up, or actually try and lock me out, I will text you a stream of duck GIFS in vengeance."

Jace actually crosses his heart, and grins. "Duly noted."

Alec stares, almost as though he's waiting for something. Magnus is half-expecting a quip about protection, or something similiar - he's without siblings himself, but is sure that's the kind of gentle teasing that occurs between people as close as these three appear to be. And, when he thinks about it, it's exactly the kind of thing Ragnor would drily slip his way, if he were here.

Thankfully, Magnus hadn't told Ragnor about his date. Catarina's voicemail had been very interested, however, so at least it's a somewhat known fact in his close circle of friends.

Alec exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before turning his attention towards Magnus. He smiles, something soft and almost intimate that sends pleasurable shivers racing across Magnus' skin, despite his layers.

"Hi," He says, again.

"Hey, yourself." Magnus replies, holding out his hand. "Ready to go?"

"Absolutely." Alec takes his hand, letting his fingers slide against Magnus'. He sends one last, sharp and fleeting stare in Isabelle and Jace's direction, almost a warning, and then allows Magnus to lead him out the door.

"I'm sorry about them," He apologises, once they're out on the street, hands swinging between them. "They have good intentions, but their actions don't often live up."

"It's rather sweet," Magnus replies, kindly. "They really seem to care about you. It's nice."

"Your friends - would they do the same thing?" Alec enquires, curious and patient.

"My friends care in different ways. Ones not quite socially acceptable, or polite, for that matter. I haven't told them about this particular date, if only to escape merciless teasing - directed only at me, I assure you." Magnus glances at Alec sideways, pleasantly thrilled to see Alec watching him. "Part of me dreads them meeting you, because they'll no-doubt like you more."

Alec squeezes their joined hands. "You think so?"

"I know so," Magnus corrects. "And, really, they'd be in their right mind to. I'd probably like you more, if I was them."

Alec presses his lips together in a tight smile, the tips of his ears an adorable red. It seems to be a habit of his, as though he feels he needs to keep his smile in check, for fear of it taking over this face, which is a shame, in Magnus' opinion, because Alec has a lovely smile. He's only been privy to it a fleeting few times, but they were moments he cherished, dearly, because it was a glimpse at a carefree-Alec he's quite fond of.

"I'm admittedly a little biased," Magnus continues. A woman with a twin-size pram strolls past, and Magnus steps aside to let her past. He ends up with his hips pressed to Alec's, arms caught between them, in a flush position Magnus really likes.

Alec doesn't move away. "Biased?"

"Well, I like you." Magnus explains. "Quite a lot, as it turns out. So naturally I'd think that my friends would prefer you, because anyone would prefer you. I certainly prefer you over, well, most people."

It might be a little heavy for a third date, but it's nothing even half-false. Alec has an enchanting quality about him that Magnus honestly cannot get enough of.

"I like you, too." Alec says, after a short bout of calm silence. "For the record. A lot."

The simplicity with which Alec expresses most thoughts, and emotions, is devastating. Magnus is tripping and stumbling down a rabbit hole of infatuation with each second spent in Alec's presence.

"That's good." His eyes flicker down to Alec's mouth. They probably don't have the time to kiss, what with the movie starting in a couple of minutes and everything, but the temptation is strong and hard to dismiss.

Alec's lips are soft and responsive, and it's a miracle that Magnus doesn't melt into a puddle right where they stand. He keeps it quick and mostly chaste, though it's not an easy task when Alec's tongue darts out to poke at the seam of his mouth.

"We're going to miss the movie," He explains, at the flash of heat in Alec's eyes. "And seeing as that is the centerpoint of our date, it seems a shame."

"Not the only shame," Alec mumbles, his eyes widening just slightly as he realises what he's said. He doesn't take it back though, which is a plus, Magnus is sure.

"At least wait until after the previews," Magnus suggests, not making any attempt to move. "Let the movie begin before we continue any more of that."

"Sounds like a plan, to me." Alec replies, his voice low and a little husky. The cinema is only a few blocks away, but they will no doubt be some of the hardest blocks of Magnus' life.

The fact he manages to keep it together until they sit down is a testament to his levels of self-restraint, and a firm exercise in it. Alec is frustratingly hard to resist, and the quick looks and press of his hand against Magnus' doesn't make it any easier.

Magnus manages, though, and the reward far outweighs the struggle.

 

* * *

 

"I don't do this, a lot."

Magnus strokes his middle finger along the rim of his martini glass thoughtfully. "Drink?"

Alec's jaw pulses, his teeth gritted against the heat rising to the surface of his cheeks. "No - well, yes, but not just ... I meant, going out. I don't really, go out a lot."

"Well," Magnus raises his glass, head tilted thoughtfully. "I suppose I should make the best out of it."

Alec's smile is soft and shy. It's their fifth date, and whilst they're not exactly taking things slow, there is an innocence to their time together, something gentle and delicate that warns against breaking.

"What are we toasting to?" Alec asks, holding up his own glass, a stout Old Fashioned cocktail with clinking ice cubes.

Magnus purses his lips, eyes locked on Alec's. "To us."

They toast, glass tinking slightly, and Magnus smirks at Alec from above the rim of his glass. Alec grins back, a little more subdued, and takes a slow sip of his drink. It had been Magnus' idea, to come to the Hunter's Moon, a small hole-in-the-wall kind of bar with an excellent, relaxed atmosphere and inexpensive cocktails, just for something a little different.

He's been having _the best_ time with Alec, but he doesn't want things to get boring and stale, wants to keep them fresh and interesting, wants to make a good impression. He knows that, he doesn't really _need_ to, Alec appears plenty interested already, but Magnus has had relationships fall apart because things became monotonous, and that's the last thing he wants.

Magnus leans forward, angled against the corner of their booth. Alec sits opposite him, their feet pressed together beneath the table. "So, I did something interesting today."

One of the things that Magnus adores most about Alec is his attentiveness. He pours his attention completely into the person, or people, he's talking to, and there's never any doubt that his complete attention is focused solely on you.

It's refreshing for Magnus, to know he's being listened to, and not just heard.

Alec raises a curious eyebrow. "Yeah?"

Magnus nods, gaze flicking down to his drink, before back up to Alec's eyes. "You know that summer internship I was looking into?"

It was for a popular, indie fashion magazine, _Pandemonium_ ; getting experience through such a program would help him understand what people like, how to market and sell it, so that when he gets his own line, or store, or magazine - whichever he decides - he'll have the knowledge behind him.

Alec nods, forehead creased slightly. He doesn't, for the life of him, have any sense of fashion, but he's kind enough to listen to Magnus ramble on about it for what must feel like hours on end. It's far too endearing.

"I sent in my application, today."

Magnus watches, in awe, as Alec's face lights up, soft and slow. Alec reaches across the table, wrapping his hand around Magnus' and squeezing it with a touch as encouraging as his smile.

"That's awesome, Magnus!" Alec is exuding second-hand happiness, more than Magnus knows how to deal with. He's never met _anyone_ like Alec before.

"There's no guarantee that I'll get in," Magnus reminds him, reminds them both, trying to keep the force of his own smile tamped down. It's hard. "But, it's a step in the right direction. And even if I don't get it, it's something, you know? It's a start."

"It's fantastic, Mags." Alec exlaims, the nickname slipping out before he can catch it. His cheeks are spotted with pink splotches and the tips of his ears are burning red, and it all adds to the swell of overwhelming feelings coursing through Magnus.

"Just keep your fingers crossed, for me?" Magnus asks, teasing slightly. "It will probably be a few weeks before I hear anything, and the internship wouldn't even start until June, but a little luck never goes astray."

"I will," Alec grins, eyes alight. "Keep my fingers crossed, that is. Not that I think you'll need it, they'd be pretty foolish not to give you the internship. You're perfect for the role."

"You're just saying that because you have to," Magnus points out, taking a sip from his drink, his hand still tangled with Alec's. Alec's palm is warm, his fingers a pale contrast to Magnus' tan skin, bare compared to Magnus' ring-adorned hand.

Alec smirks, a teasing glint in his eyes. It had taken Magnus a little while, to get Alec to open up enough to be comfortable flirting, but when he does it's enough to knock Magnus off his feet - metaphorically, most of the time.

"It's part of your duties as a boyfriend," Magnus continues, unaware of the depth to his rambling, or the softening of Alec's features. "To always stand up for me and think that I'm amazing, even when I'm not."

"Boyfriend?" Alec echoes. There's a quirk to the corner of his mouth, like he's trying to keep himself from smiling.

Magnus glances at their joined hands. It's their fifth date - have they not discussed this yet? Magnus kind of just, assumed that they had, but when he tries to recall such a conversation, he can't find it.

"If that's okay with you." He strokes his thumb along Alec's knuckle, watching for any sign of discomfort; there is none. If anything, Alec looks incredibly pleased, and a tad amused.

"Are you asking if I'm okay with being your boyfriend?" Alec asks. His smile is fully-blown now. "I'm sorry, Mags, but that's a stupid question. Of course I'm okay with that. There's nothing I want more."

"That's a relief," Magnus still can't believe they hadn't actually talked about it before. "This conversation could have taken an awkward turn, otherwise."

A slip of laughter escapes Alec's parted lips. He glances off to the side, then upward before returning his gaze to Magnus. "Isabelle will have a blast with this, you know? I think she's more emotionally invested in our relationship than we are."

Magnus huffs out a breathy laugh. "Whilst I can see your point, Alexander, I don't believe she is more invested than I am. I'd wage my entire savings on our relationship, that's how invested _I_ am." He pauses, tongue swiping across his bottom lip. "Then again, I don't have much in terms of savings, so perhaps that's not a good admission..."

"Are you saying," Alec shuffles in his seat, leaning forward, until they're close enough they could probably bump noses if they tried. "That you'd put all you have into our relationship?"

Magnus lifts their joined hands and brushes a slightly open-mouthed kiss against the ridge of Alec's knuckles. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

Alec smiles bright enough to light up the entire bar. Inside his chest, Magnus' heart skips a dangerous beat, mimicing a speed that, under less desirable circumstances would probably cause a coronary issue.

It's worth it, the thud in his chest, for all that Alec makes him feel.

 

* * *

 

They settle into something of a routine, and pleasantly, it involves a lot of seeing each other. Magnus thought it would be hard, with their conflicting schedules, but they manage to make it work.

On weekends, they meet up for lunch inbetween Alec's defense classes, which allows Magnus the brilliant view of workout-Alec, usually in a black tank, always with damp curls and glistening skin on show. They spend free afternoons together, and Magnus has, many a time, returned to his dorm after work to find a note taped to the door with a kind, handwritten message that sends him spinning.

Alec's romantic gestures aren't as extravagant, or arguably sophisticated, as Magnus', but they're heartfelt and sweet and always unexpected. Buying him a coffee when he's studying, holding open doors, paying for dinner. Small things that don't seem like much on paper but have a massive impact in practice.

Magnus is falling ridiculously quickly.

They've been dating for, six weeks, at that, but already Magnus knows there's just something about Alec that he'll never be able to forget. Alec has dug a groove inside Magnus' heart and fit himself nicely, warm and snug, and Magnus can't stand the idea of it being any different.

He doesn't say anything, though, because it is rather early, and he doesn't want to scare Alec away with unrequited confessions of love. Just because he knows that Alec is interested in him, doesn't meant their feelings sit on the same level, and they're having such a good time together, that Magnus doesn't want to be the reason that all falls apart.

Besides, he's a live-in-the-moment kind of person anyway. He's going to take the present as it is, take each day as it comes, and not stress too much about what comes next.

 

* * *

 

_"I miss you."_

Magnus shuts his door behind him, slumping against it. He's just come off a six-hour shift, and his feet are currently plotting murder. It doesn't help that Alec is away, off to his parents' for the weekend.

It's a little too early in their relationship for Alec to introduce his boyfriend to his homophobic parents - at least, Alec thinks so. Magnus had assured him, should he want Magnus to come, he'd be the perfect, polite gentleman, wouldn't dare utter even a compliment Alec's way if flirting makes the Lightwood parents uncomfortable.

Alec had thanked him, but explained that coming back to Magnus' dorm on the Monday would be far more appealing for the both of them than having to suffer through the cruel taunts and not-so-subtle digs his mother, at the least, would shoot their way.

"I miss you, too." He admits, once the thud in his feet have lessened to a dull ache. "How long until I get you back, again?"

Alec's laugh fills the line, full and heavenly. _"Twenty-two hours. Not that I'm counting."_

"Of course not," Magnus pushes himself off the door, making it as far as his bed before he flops down face-first. Turns out, getting the particular scholarship he did allows him a single room, because he'd applied early and got allocated during the first wave of students.

There's many things to be grateful about having a single room.

_"How was your day?"_ Alec asks, an almost indiscernible thread of teasing to his tone.

"Torturous." Magnus complains, pressing the speaker button on his screen, so that he won't have to move. "I think my feet are contemplating abandoning me for someone who doesn't force them to suffer the way I have."

_"If they do, we'll find you better, more loyal feet."_ Alec replies, easily playing along, because he's kind and good like that. _"At least you get a break, though."_

"Mm," Magnus hopes his hum gets across. He's too tired to lift his head. "Providing Professor Lurchin doesn't decide to suddenly un-cancel his lecture."

He has no shifts for the next two days, and only has one lecture and a study group session tomorrow, both early enough in the morning that he can spend the rest of the day with Alec, who's entire schedule finishes by midday.

_Twenty-two hours._ It's not that much, not really. Less than a day. Feels like longer, but that's just a matter of relative perception. Magnus can make it twenty-two hours.

"What about you?" He asks, knowing Alec likely needs someone to rant to. "What's the count?"

Alec's ragged sigh comes through the line, harsh around the edges. Magnus wishes he was there, in person, to wrap Alec up and kiss every part of his face and tell him he's proud of him, of everything he is and has done, because his parents certainly won't.

_"They've degraded my studies, I think at least twenty times since I walked through the door, on Friday. Lamented about my wasted potential at least once an hour, and tried to set me up with five seperate girls."_

"I'm sorry," Magnus lifts his head onto his palm, elbow holding him up. "That they don't see how amazing you are, as you are."

There's a pause, and when Alec speaks up, there's something almost hesitant to his voice. _"Iz, um, stepped up. Told them I'm doing great in my studies, that they should be grateful we even came back for the weekend. They hadn't been any kinder to her."_

Magnus feels his blood simmering beneath his skin. He's almost glad he hasn't met Maryse and Robert, because he'd have a few choice things to say to them, and they probably wouldn't reflect too well on Alec.

He knows that his experience with his own parents is less than stellar, there's a reason he'd moved in with his grandmother at fourteen after all, but how anyone could try and drag someone as beautiful as Alec, as ferociously passionate as Isabelle, truly astounds him. The two of them are such incredible people, he counts himself lucky to know them, and in all regards so should their parents.

_"I told them about you."_

Magnus stares, at the ticking seconds of his screen, counting out the conversation, a flick of numbers that reminds him of the all too existential distance between Alec and himself. Alec's words echo around his mind, light and bouncing like a screensaver.

"You did?" It's all he can get out.

_"They were trying to convince me to go to lunch with this debutante they knew, a daughter of some stuffy socialite, despite my adamant refusal to being set up at all. Isabelle was about to tell them about Clary, I could see it, just as I could see the tremor in her hand, as she pulled her hair back from her face."_ Alec's voice softens heartwarmingly at the mention of his sister. _"I couldn't let her do it, Mags. Not alone. She wasn't ready."_

He's plaintive, begging for Magnus' understanding without quite realising that's what he's doing, and Magnus feels his heart strings twist into tangled knots.

"You did what braver people wouldn't dare, Alexander." Magnus whispers, pulling himself up despite the tug of every fatigued muscle. "You stood up against your parents."

Alec's voice comes in, thin and fragile. _"You're not mad?"_

"There's nothing to be mad about," Magnus assures him, phone cradled in his palm. "I'm proud of you. Immensely."

" _It was kind of liberating,"_ Alec admits, a soft chuckle bleeding through. _"Terrifying, at first. Naturally. But then, I heard it back, how I said it - and I sounded confident, in a way I'm just not around them. And it felt good. And Iz, she just had the biggest grin on her face, and she didn't have to say anything, because I felt what she was thinking, saw it in her eyes."_

Magnus rakes a hand through his hair, wondering if it's possible to crack from smiling so much.

" _Suddenly,"_ Alec continues, talking the way he often does when something amps him up. _"It didn't matter what my parents thought, or said, or the pulsating disgust in their eyes. Because I was - because I am, happy, in general and with who I am, and I think I've finally accepted the fact that I can't change their mind. If they don't like my decisions, if they don't like what I can't choose, then I can't waste time on them, not anymore. It's too tiring."_

"Have I mentioned just how proud of you, I am?" Magnus shakes his head fondly, his cheeks aching with the force of his own happiness.

He's going to take the very breath from Alec's lungs when they see each other next, going to to nip and pull at his lips until they're red, going to pepper his face with kisses and wrap him in the world's tightest hug.

" _You might have mentioned it,"_ Alec admits. Magnus can practically hear the smile in his tone, imagine the brightness taking over his expression. _"It's all Iz could talk about, after she'd dragged me out of the room. That, and Mom and Dad's jaws dropping to the ground."_

"Have they spoken to you since?" Magnus asks, cautiously treading uncertain waters.

" _It all happened last night, and I think the last thing they said to me was ... something along the lines of being disappointed. But, you know what?"_

There's a steel line to Alec's question.

"What?" Magnus ventures.

" _I'm disappointed in_ them _. Less so because of me, I'm the oldest, they had expectations that I just didn't live up to. And that's, it's - whatever, I don't have the energy to care. But the way they treat Izzy is horrible, and you'd think they'd have more care for her, be nicer to her, but they've refused to speak to her all morning. It's like they've tied her in with me, and decided to abandon the both of us."_

"You have each other," Magnus reminds him, sliding his thumb along the length of his middle finger, a little nervously. "And I'm sure they'll come around eventually. Once they realise what fantastic children they have, they'll understand what a big mistake they've made."

Alec hums. _"Maybe. I just - I'm, I think I'm just done caring. Two, three months ago, I'd probably be cowering in their corner, apologising for not being the son they want, but now-"_

"It's different," Magnus fills in.

" _Yeah,"_ Alec breathes out, relieved. _"Because, I'm in love, you know. And I don't want to lose that, lose you, because my parents disapprove."_

It's a true testament to Alec's ability to surprise Magnus. His words come through the line, simple, stated, shocking Magnus so thoroughly that he drops his phone.

He blinks, dazed, and then scrambles to pick it up again.

" _Magnus?"_

"I'm here," The words come out in a breathless rush. "Sorry, I'm here."

" _Is it too soon?"_ Alec asks, concern creeping in. _"If it is ... look, you don't have to say it back, I know I kind of just dumped it on you, then-"_

"I do." Magnus promises, hand pressed over his thudding heart. If it would just quiet down for _one second_... "I do. I love you, Alexander. I do."

Alec exhales deeply. _"Well, that's a relief. Admittedly, this isn't exactly how I wanted to say it for the first time, but it kind of just came out. And it was a pretty strong instigator for me standing up against my parents, so you deserve the credit."_

"The credit is all yours," Magnus replies, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. His heart won't slow down. If anything, it speeds up. "I appreciate the sentiment, but you are the one who did it all."

" _You gave me something to fight for,"_ Alec is going to be the death of him. _"You gave me the strength to do it. Loving you, was the step I think I needed to do it. I needed a reason, needed something to push me, and I wouldn't have that without you."_

"I love you, Alexander." Magnus states, because he doesn't think that once is enough.

" _I love you, too."_

Alec has the most startling habit of shaking the very foundation that Magnus stands upon. And Magnus loves him all the more for it.

 

* * *

 

"We've been together for a week."

Alec raises an unimpressed eyebrow, hands wrapped around a steaming cardboard cup of coffee. The morning air bites at his cheeks, but he has a lecture in half-an-hour and he needs something to kick him into gear.

Dealing with Jace's crap and getting half-priced coffee is a sure way to get that done. And otherwise, he'll have to listen to Jace complain about how lonely he was at the van, because Simon is busy with something, and it's just not worth it.

Besides, Jace is his best friend. Putting up with each other is what they do best.

"So?" He usually understands Jace, even if he doesn't quite agree with him, but he doesn't get it this time.

Jace sweeps his fringe back from his forehead. He's been trying to grow it out, and it's at the annoying stage where it keeps bothering him, and he can't stop touching it, which has started to bother Alec a little, too. "So, I can't just walk up to Simon and ask him to move in with me after just a week of dating!"

Alec resists the urge to smack Jace up the back of his head. It's hard, but something he's used to.

"And you don't think that Simon is going to suggest it, when you tell him I'm moving out?" Alec rolls his eyes, fond and exasperated. "I know the kid's a little daft, but he's not that stupid, Jace."

"Hey," Jace's eyes narrow slightly. "Simon's not-" He sighs, raking his hand through his hair. "Who am I kidding?" Jace laments. "I'm in love with a complete dork."

There's a softness to his eyes that warms at Alec, not that he'd tell Jace, because that surpasses the acceptable boundaries of their friendship. He's happy for Jace, that he finally admitted his feelings, to himself, and to a degree Simon, and that it all worked out.

But he's learnt not to let fear control him, and Jace needs to do the same. Standing up against his parents, telling Magnus he loves him - it's all accumulated into this newfound confidence Alec knows he'd been sorely lacking before.

It's been a month, or so, he hasn't exactly been counting, but the liberated feeling hasn't left. He feels like he fits in his own skin better, like he's slotted into a place that he belongs, and he's _happier._

It's not his fault that he wants the same for Jace. And that he really wants to move in with his boyfriend.

"Just talk to him about it," Alec suggests. "He might surprise you."

It's less that he wants to force Jace to move in with his, _very new_ boyfriend, it's that Alec thinks it would be best, for both Jace and Simon. He sees the way Simon looks at Jace, the pure adoration and the soft curve to his smile when he thinks no one can notice. The both of them play up this fun relationship, they joke and quip and tease, and in barely seven days Simon has threatened to leave Jace three seperate times, and that's just in Alec's presence - but at the end of the day there's a core affection between them that's undeniable and sweet, and just that little bit sickening in a good way.

"What if he says no?" Jace asks, in a rare moment of emotional vulnerability. "I mean, I know it makes sense, logically, for us to be roommates, and I know that he _likes_ me, but - isn't it too soon?"

"You won't know if you don't ask him," Alec points out.

His coffee, still hot but less on the burning side, leaves a pleasantly bitter aftertaste. He smiles, to himself, at the thought of how Magnus had first reacted, the first time they went out for proper coffee and not the bean water that had been the staple of their first meeting.

Magnus, preferring a truckload of sugar and generous helping of cream, and a habit of syrup-of-the-week, had stared at Alec's one sugar, all espresso drink and stared with slightly skeptical and widened eyes.

He's since convinced Alec to dare, every now and then, and upgrade to an Iced Americano, the same strong coffee taste that Alec craves with a fancy name to keep Magnus satisfied that Alec is branching out.

Alec, in turn, has managed to convince Magnus to stick to one particular drink for at least a month before changing his order. It's been remarked by many that they're a specifically peculiar kind of couple.

"Hey," Jace clicks his fingers in front of Alec's face, a mostly put-upon disappointment in his heterochromatic eyes. "Stop daydreaming about your boyfriend and help me figure out what to do with mine. I'm in crisis, Alec, and as my best friend it is your job to save me from it."

Alec rolls his eyes, putting his coffee down on the silver counter. "You're a drama queen who is over-reacting, as usual. Just, talk to him. What's the worst that could happen, really?"

Jace stares at Alec, eyes wide and a little sarcastic. "Well, for starters, he could break up with me?"

"You're an idiot." Alec states. "Ask Simon if he wants to move in with you. Or I'll do it for you."

He probably wouldn't. He's too busy trying to figure out the logistics of actually moving out himself, he doesn't have time to have Jace's conversations for him. But Jace, in situations of doubt like this, needs a push in the right direction, needs to be shoved towards the end-goal or he'll just run past it.

 

* * *

 

Later that night, Alec hears his phone buzzing, left discarded somewhere on Magnus' bed. He searches around, under textbooks and stray papers and coloured folders, until he finds it, the screen lighting up with a second message.

 

**[21:17]** **Jace** : Simon just said he loved me.

 

**[21:19]** **Jace** **:** Hope your stuff is packed. You're moving out tomorrow.

 

Alec smiles, something light and secret, and types back a reply, reminding Jace to use protection and threatening him with certain death if he dares touch Alec's stuff in his haste to pack him off.

He glances up from his phone, just as Magnus walks in from the adjoined bathroom, towel slung low along his waist, drops of water beading down his toned chest, his hair a tangle of damp curls. He's smiling, as he always, incomprehensibly, seems to be around Alec, and it's with great strength that Alec keeps his gaze from wandering any further down than Magnus' clavicle.

Magnus raises a curious eyebrow, a query passing from him to Alec, silent and wordless, but understood all the same.

"You know that question, you asked?" Alec knows it's perhaps a little unfair, to tease, to drag it on. But Magnus is standing before him with only a towel and he needs to get in any shots while he can, because of the two of them, he's disadvantaged the most.

"I ask a lot of questions," Magnus' mouth is quirked, slightly. "You'll have to be a little more specific, darling."

Alec sweeps his laptop onto the bed, dumped between evidence of his vapid studies - he's surely done enough to grant a break.

"It was, a while ago. We were curled up," Alec pats the bed. "Here, sleepy and sated, and you turned to me, with this soft and hopeful look in your eyes. And you asked me to move in with you."

"I don't think you believed me at first," Magnus admits.

Alec pushes off from the bed, hands tucked loosely into his jean pockets. "I didn't. I thought your mind was stuck in a post-sex haze, that your thoughts were running off without you."

He's a few steps from Magnus now. Neither of them move. "What changed your mind?" Magnus asks, hand skimming along his toned abdomen.

_Tease._

"The genuine spark in your eyes." Alec replies, He slides forward, one step, casual, hands still tucked away. "I could see it was something you'd been thinking about for a while, that it was more than just a spur-of-the-moment consideration."

"It was a thought," Magnus clarifies, a dust of pink sweeping his cheeks. "Nothing concrete."

"It is now," Alec closes the distance, not that there's much between them now. "And tomorrow, it will be official."

Magnus grins, full-blown and without hesitation. "You mean I get to decorate this space with your despairingly minimalist possessions?"

_"We"_ Alec corrects, because it's important. "We get to decorate with my stuff. I'm not a minimalist, I just don't care for lavishing extortionate funds on things I don't need."

"You are a precious diamond inside the tough exterior of a grey rock," Magnus whispers, reaching out with grabby hands to pull Alec closer. They end up, closely entertwined and endless, hands falling where they belong, finding purchase on the other as easy as second nature.

"I love you," Alec says, stroking his thumb along the bow of Magnus' bottom lip. He slides his hand into Magnus' hair, mindless and uncaring of the water that drips onto his skin, sticking to him much like Magnus is.

Magnus pauses, eyes bright and searching. His lashes are dark, fluttering each time he blinks. Bare-faced Magnus is a Magnus that Alec likes a lot - but then, there isn't really any Magnus that he doesn't love.

"I love you, too." Magnus replies, quietly. The words come out like a caress, and a surprise, and a fact, all at once, a beautiful impossibility.

Their lips meet, gentle and warm, and it feels altogether a lot like coming home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> credit to ['MalecShip'](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MalecShip/pseuds/MalecShip) for inspiration of the last scene. I was a little lost before your comment came in. thank you.
> 
> inspiration taken from [this prompt](http://papalogia.tumblr.com/post/161224889381/uni-prompts-because-why-not) (6)
> 
> (wish me luck guys because next year I'll be doing a double major myself - english and creative writing - and will likely be put in the same position as Magnus in the first scene)
> 
> \--
> 
> this whole fic has genuinely been an experience for me. writing new ships, new dynamics, and just pouring myself into every word - I have had more fun with this than I expected, and I thank each and every one of you for reading my sappy works. 
> 
> here's to an endless amount of pride, because we're all spectacular, and deserve it ;) ❤

**Author's Note:**

> hit up [my tumblr](http://killjoyrow.tumblr.com) or my [fandom side-blog](http://drugs-and-candy.tumblr.com) to talk to me, if you want, and feel free to leave a comment! I'd love to hear what you think. <3


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